Counting Every Day
by Jerrath92
Summary: As if surviving the apocalypse wasn't hard enough, now Merle Dixon has to worry about helping others survive it with him, even if that means confronting the very thing that threatens his existence. Rated M for gore, violence, and language.
1. Chapter 1: Nine Months

**Okay, I know that a lot of people don't READ THIS! But I figured I should post it anyway. 5 days after starting part one, I decided to make a sequel. Having said that, if you are reading this without having first read "What to Live For", you might at some point (or within the first chapter) be extremely confused. I highly suggest reading part one first and not just because I wrote it, but because I believe that it will make your life a whole lot easier than if you were to proceed with this, being part two, first.**

** Now that that's out of the way…this story picks up a few months after where part one left off (and if you've read part one, you know what that means). Fair warning; I was so hyped up after having just seen the latest Walking Dead episode that the entire story took me a short time to write, but I also knew exactly where I was going with everything and so my ideas came together quite quickly. With this story, I haven't the foggiest idea where I am going, so please bear with me. I wish to keep you all happy and update as frequently as possible, but you know, life happens sometimes. And WHY am I making a sequel? Well, if it isn't already fairly obvious, I love Merle and just could not let him go, so he's back…again, just when you thought he had a "happily ever-NOT!"**

** Enough rambling, please proceed…with caution.**

"Daryl, you numb wits, didn't I tell you not to leave your damn crossbow layin' 'round where someone might step on it?" hollered Merle Dixon, kicking angrily at his younger brother Daryl's crossbow. He had come out of the trailer, made a sharp right turn, and nearly lost his balance, not to mention his pride as he tripped over the damn thing. Daryl had fashioned himself four more arrows for his weapon, but those he always kept slung in a quiver on his back.

Daryl emerged from the woods, zipping up the fly on his jeans as he came. "What? I had to take a piss, been gone maybe thirty seconds and if you wouldda waited 'nother ten I wouldda picked it up 'fore your big feet went tramplin' on it."

"How 'bout I stick my _big foot_ right up your ass, boy?" Merle threatened. "How 'bout that, huh? I'd be a hell've a lot angrier if it'd been Andrea who tripped on this. Y'oughta know better'n to leave somethin' this dangerous so close to the trailer."

"That baby ain't comin' for 'nother few weeks, innet?" said Daryl irritably. "Look, I ain't careless with my bow, I just set it down for a few seconds. Would you've preferred me to leak right out here where ev'ryone can smell it?"

"I'd prefer it if you juss stayed outta camp most the time, but since you don't, I had to make some rules plain to you, one of which was _don't—leave—your—shit—lyin'—'round!_ Next time I'll cut your ears off and shove 'em up your nose."

"Aw, screw you," said Daryl, snatching up his crossbow and heading back off into the woods.

"Hey, if you're takin' off, you'd better be back b'fore nightfall 'cuz if I have to come in there lookin' for you agin I'mma be real pissed," Merle called after Daryl's retreating back.

"So, this is you in a good mood?" asked Daryl.

Merle chucked a rock at him in response. "Jackass!"

"Merle, for the love of everything living, will you _shut up_?" asked Andrea, stepping down out of the trailer. Her belly preceded her and it was a fairly good size by now. Merle and Daryl had gone, for lack of a better word, shopping in the nearest town for maternity clothes as she slowly grew out of them. It was true that she was very near her due date, or as close to a due date as they could predict and as the date loomed nearer, Merle grew to regret his decision to father the child more and more. For all purposes, he and Andrea were practically husband and wife and besides, where the hell could you find a pastor nowadays? As far as he was concerned, he and Andrea had been "married" for almost nine months and the fact that he hadn't so much as given her a ring (really, that was one thing that you absolutely could _not_ find nowadays and you couldn't go picking one off of a walker's swollen dead hand either) mattered very little. But now that the baby was almost here, Merle couldn't help feeling that he had put Andrea in more danger than he ever intended, not to mention the baby. After all, who had kids in the apocalypse?

No one.

Which made him a complete dumbass.

"Every –single—day," Andrea complained, "I hear you two going at it. Get off his back about his crossbow and he'll stop leaving it around because he's just doing it to annoy you."

"It couldda juss as easily been you who stepped on it-,"

"No, because I watch where I'm going. I'm a lot more perceptive now that I'm walking for two, or haven't you noticed?"

Merle hung his head and looked away without an answer. Andrea's tone softened and she touched his broad shoulder. "Is it something I said?"

Scratching at his head distractedly, Merle sank onto the damp ground. It was May now and they'd been having nothing but rainstorms. In seconds his backside was soaked, but he didn't particularly care. He pulled up grass between his fingers with a sort of maddened fervor.

"I can't help you unless you give me something to work with," said Andrea kindly.

"Naw, I don't wancha t'have to work with anythin'. No sense in sayin' nothin' if iss only gonna worry you."

"Well, now I'm already worried, but I don't know what it is I'm worrying about, so you might as well tell me."

Damn, she was good.

"Alright, fine but don't say I didn't warn ya. Iss juss that I got to thinkin' 'bout when the baby comes…if we made a mistake in goin' through with it. With walkers roamin' 'round, I don't think havin' a baby was the smartest thing we couldda done. Babies are awful loud, ain't they? I babysat Daryl for all his infant life and he never shut up, always whinin' and pitchin' a fit 'bout somethin' or 'nother. I can't help wonderin' if maybe I really screwed up this time. World ain't as friendly as it used to be, not that it was even friendly to begin with, and we got no business bringin' a baby into it 'f iss gonna be in danger every day from the day iss born. Now, don't think I'm regrettin' the actual baby, I'm juss, uh, concerned is all."

"So you're scared."

"I didn't say that," said Merle defensively. If there was one thing he would not admit to, it was being _scared_. He had told Daryl once on the night they had lost a portion of their group to walkers and that was it. No one would ever hear him utter that word again.

"Alright, fine, you aren't scared, but for the sake of argument let's just say that you are borderline scared for what's going to happen to the baby once it gets here," said Andrea. "Don't you think I've thought about those same things? Don't you think that I've stayed awake many nights wondering if we did the right thing? Well, let me put it this way, I want to make _humans_ the dominant species again and the only way we can repopulate the human race is to start building."

"Breedin'," Merle agreed.

"No, that is not what I mean. Humans don't _breed_, you idiot. Animals breed. Why is it so difficult to have these intimate conversations with you?"

Merle chuckled, fiddling with a hole on the knee of his pants. "Me sayin' that I'm concerned is 'bout as intimate as iss gonna get, baby. Y'should know by now that I don't say many things that'd make someone feel good 'bout themselves."

"You're right," said Andrea coolly. "'I love you' from you is 'yeah'."

"Yeah," said Merle.

Andrea hit him hard in the arm and went back inside, calling over her shoulder, "When your _son_ comes, he'd better not be a thing like you or there'll be hell to pay."

"You sayin' bein' like me's a bad thing?" asked Merle.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. This camp can only afford to have one Merle Dixon."

"Yeah, well you got Daryl too, though him and me ain't exactly what you'd call similar."

"You _are _similar, the only difference is that I like him."

"Now, ain't that a bit harsh?"

"I'm an expecting mother, I'm supposed to be harsh now go swimming or something!"

"Alright, alright, don't git bitchy."

Merle picked up Andrea's rifle from beside the trailer door as Carol and Sophia Peletier returned from washing the laundry down in the creek. Behind them T-Dog and Glenn were following up and Glenn was looking just as sulky as ever, but it didn't concern Merle because he had looked like that ever since Maggie, Jimmy, and the other two women had set out and left the group for good. This left nine of them.

Shouldering the rifle strap, Merle also picked up a steel bat and tucked it under his right arm. His stump was covered in zebra-print duct tape to hold his knife in place where his hand should be. Every time he went scouting in the nearest town he searched desperately for plain old _gray_ duct tape, but it was just his luck that he never found any.

He trudged down the hill, thinking miserably of whether or not he was losing his true Dixon identity and becoming a pansy worried about a baby—_his_ baby. It couldn't hurt to care about the baby, could it? He had told himself that when it came to caring about Andrea and look where _that_ had gotten him. In deep shit.

It didn't matter that few walkers ever made it that close to camp; the point was that there were still walkers around and they would eat anything, man, child, animal, whatever moved and didn't smell dead. If he was really going to have a kid then he'd have to find some way to keep it quiet until it was about six years old.

_Aw, hell._

Six years? Six days was a long time. When he had thought about it before, he'd only gotten as far as the actual birth and first few nights, but _six years_? Children were never quiet. Ever. So how the hell was he supposed to keep his own kid quiet for that long? Now it was absolutely imperative that he find some sort of stronghold to put Andrea in until the kid was as big as Carl or Sophia at least. That would mean he'd have to scout for days, maybe weeks on end while avoiding walkers and hoping that he could find his way back. And he didn't have that sort of time. If Glenn's calculations were spot on or even a few days off, the baby would be here by the end of May, which left Merle about two to three weeks to find a stronghold.

_Shit._ _Merle Dixon, you really done it this time._


	2. Chapter 2: The Sounds of Twilight

Standing knee deep in the creek, Merle watched the opposite shore with a grimace on his face. He had seen something move and not just a forest animal, but something with deliberate movement, as if it _wanted_ him to catch a glimpse of it, which ruled out the possibility of a walker. A walker would have stumbled out at him and not cared that he was about to take its brains out with his rifle. No, this had to have been a person, but why hadn't they shown themselves? True enough, he might pose as a bit of a threatening figure, but if the person approached cautiously, they'd see that Merle meant no harm as long as the other human meant none. He could only think of one type of individual who wouldn't want to be seen and that was a marauder. His group had been lucky enough to not come across any in the near eleven months since the epidemic broke out, but he always knew they were there, and if there were marauders around now, he needed to get back to camp. But if he returned to camp, they might follow him; they would be able to see him and he couldn't see them, a bad combination. He realized that they could easily put a bullet between his eyes at this very moment, take anything worth taking from his dead body, and continue to search for the camp.

He considered calling out, but thought better of it and took a step back. It was the worst thing in the world, knowing but not being able to _see_. He had come to expect something to go down whenever the hair on the back of his neck prickled and his upper lip started to sweat and so he stepped up onto land, readying his rifle for action. His handicap did not prevent him from loading in less than ten seconds and putting the scope to his eye. With this added vision he scanned the tree line where he had seen movement and the dying sun reflected off of something metallic.

Another rifle, pointed _directly at him_.

The person holding the rifle was also looking through the weapon's scope, but they didn't fire and so Merle didn't either. He could see that the person was a man, about six foot and toned, but his face was not visible.

Merle lowered his rifle and raised his voice so that he could be heard over the rushing water. "Hey, 'f you're gonna juss stand there in that position, y'might as well shoot 'less you was plannin' on comin' out to say hi. I ain't gonna lie and say that havin' a gun pointed at me don't piss me off. So, what's it gonna be?"

The man slowly lowered his weapon and shouted back at Merle in an accent that Merle had only ever heard coming from a television screen, "You keep a loose hand on that rifle, sir, or I won't hesitate to let you taste a bullet." Merle stood rather still, drumming his fingers against the rifle's nozzle as it rested against his leg. The man stepped out from the trees and cautiously began walking in Merle's direction.

"How long you been followin' me?" asked Merle as the stranger approached.

"Since you left your camp," said the man, confirming what Merle dreaded. "I needed to get you on your own so that I could warn you."

"Yeah? Warn me of what?" said Merle heatedly.

"Others in my group have been watching your camp for a while, planning on taking it and they sent me out to follow you and see what you'd do. I came to warn you to pack up your things and get the hell out before they move in on you. They want weapons and food, both of which you have, but more than anything they're looking for the company of women, also something you have."

Merle's heart beat an imprint against his chest. "Y'all can go to hell and rot there. The world's endin' and you wanna go and rape women? I'll give ya three seconds to run b'fore I beat your brains in."

"You'd do well to listen to me, sir. It's not my fault that these people who are watching you have sick minds, but I had to join up with them if I wished to survive. That's the key, isn't it? To survive? I'm trying to help you achieve the same goal because I value human life, unlike my companions, but you must put your trust in a stranger, believing that there is still goodness in humanity if you are to save your friends. I see that one of your women is expecting and by your reaction to my previous statement, I can conclude that she is carrying your child. Please, sir, heed my warning and leave tonight. I can stall my companions long enough for you to get on the road and be long gone from here, but we have horses, and we will catch up if you wait too long. Just do as I say."

Merle's brain went into overload. For nine months—_nine whole months_—they had lived on that hill without having to worry about anything, not even walkers to some extent and now a marauder comes waltzing in with a warning that could very well be a trap and tells them to move out by nightfall to survive. With a baby on the way and their numbers smaller than ever, they were expected to flee the place they called home and felt safe because some men were so full of shit that they had jumped at the opportunity to show their power in the apocalypse.

Life was really a bitch sometimes.

"Do you understand what I've told you?" asked the man.

"Yeah, and I say iss bullshit," said Merle, cocking his rifle.

The stranger put up his rifle in surrender. "Hey, easy there, mate, I'm not the one who wants to harm you."

"Don't 'mate' me! 'F you can gimme one good reason why I shouldn't put a hole in your forehead then I won't, but if not, I'd start prayin' right now."

"You don't have a choice. I am the only chance you have and if you value your life as well as those of your woman and child, you'll do as I say. The longer you stand here doubting me, the less chance of getting away you have. Go now."

Merle had a silent battle of wills inside his head. On one hand he didn't feel the inclination to trust this stranger at all but on the other he had that terrible feeling that if he didn't, Andrea and the baby would end up paying the price for his inability to set his pride aside. His concentration and inner feud must have shown on his face for the stranger took a step forward in concern.

"Are you alright? You look sick to your stomach."

"Iss the sighta you that's done it," growled Merle.

"Well, my ill-tempered friend, you'd best be on your way, sharp like."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, how 'bout you leave first? I don't trust you now and I sure as hell ain't gonna turn my back to you."

"Fine, then, I'll go first, but you'd better be gone by the time I look over my shoulder or I'll _make_ you run. Oh, and by the way, I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't give it, asshole," said Merle shortly.

"Well, if we should happen to meet again, you might want to call me Ferris instead of asshole."

"Git lost Englishman."

"I'm Scottish, actually," Ferris corrected.

"Do I look like I give a damn? Beat it!"

Ferris backed up and Merle watched him go with nothing short of a loathsome glare. He waited until the Scotsman's backside was no longer visible before he took off at a run back to camp, hoping that Daryl had returned so that they could pack up and move out without having to worry about his sorry ass. The grass was slippery and it had begun to rain by the time Merle stumbled into camp, rallying Rick, T-Dog, and Glenn to him, experiencing a sour taste in his mouth at what he was about to say.

"Pack up everythin', we gotta move. I seen marauders 'bout a mile back and they's headed this way on horseback."

"What?" said Glenn, eyes widening in shock. "We've been here for nine months and never had any trouble from marauders or even walkers, so why should they bother us now? We can't just pick up and leave just like that."

"We can," said Merle, ripping the drying clothes line down," and we will," he stuffed a lounge chair into Glenn's arms, "right _now_."

"Now, hang on a minute, Merle," said Rick, putting out his arm to stop Merle from putting out the fire. "What exactly do you think you saw?"

"I _did_ see it, ya dumbass, now 'f you ain't gonna help pack then can you get the hell outta my way?"

"But we can't leave," interjected Carol, holding Sophia's hand nervously. "This is—well, it's our home, isn't it? We've made a living here, we've been safe."

"Been's the key word here," said Merle darkly. "Look, 'f y'all don't wanna believe me, I ain't forcin' ya, but I'm takin' Andrea and Daryl outta here b'fore anythin' happens. Face it; we ain't in a position to d'fend ourselves if we came under attack by humans. Y'all thought walkers were bad, but what if we had to face an enemy that knows how to use its brain and shoot back at us? Huh? Lemme remind you of the last time you didn't b'lieve ol' Merle when I said that you'd get blamed for castin' me out. Remember that? Remember all that shit that happened afterwards? Want a repeat've that? Naw, didn't think so."

"What makes you so damn sure that those marauders are gonna come this way, man?" T-Dog demanded.

Merle responded, lifting his rifle into firing position. "Oh, gee, maybe iss 'cuz've them fellas on horseback right there!" He pushed T-Dog hard in the chest and fired just as a bullet struck the trailer's side. Rick drew his gun and ducked down to avoid more fire. Glenn grabbed Carol and Sophia and made them lay flat as the sound of ricocheting bullets filled the dark twilight air.

Swearing loudly, Merle hit the ground hard on his stomach and crawled backwards towards the trailer. "That son've a bitch! I told y'all, didn't I? I tolja, but no-,"

"Merle, just shut up and fire!" shouted Rick.

Merle had reached the box of weapons when he heard a rifle shot ring out overhead. Looking straight up, he saw Andrea standing on the trailer's bottom step and shooting at the oncoming marauders.

"Andrea, are you fuckin' crazy? Get down!" Merle screamed at her, starting to get up.

Either she could not hear him over the thundering hooves and shouts, or she chose to ignore him, for Andrea stepped down onto the grass and took careful aim at a marauder who was urging his horse straight towards the spot where Carl was taking cover. The shot sounded and the intruder fell from his horse which continued to canter in their direction. Glenn rushed at the horse and shouted, waving his arms to scare the beast off, which he managed to do at the very last second. The horse galloped off to the side and came to a standstill, waiting for its master to mount again.

"Glenn, get the horse!" ordered Rick, placing a second marauder in his sights as it came in for a close attack.

Merle came onto his knees, cursing his handicap as he saw at least six more terrors on hooves charging in. He and Andrea took out two and were aiming for a third when he heard her gasp in pain His heart stopped dead in his chest. He whirled around to see Andrea grasping the door handle with one hand while another held onto her shoulder blade where blood trickled out from between her very white fingertips. She sat down heavily on the top step and brought her fingers to her eyes in bewilderment.

"M—Merle…?" she said quietly.

Blood pounded in Merle's ears. He felt his face grow hot as he stood upright and gently lifted Andrea in his arms, placing her on the ground underneath the trailer so that she was out of harm's way. He shoved past T-Dog who seemed to anticipate what he was going to do next and ran for the riderless horse. Sticking his foot in the stirrup, he hoisted himself up by grasping the horn and swung his left leg over. In less than three second he had coiled his stump around the reigns and dug his heels into the horse's sides to get it moving. He knew how to ride a horse, or rather fall of one, but he only needed to stay astride for as long as it took to meet up with a marauder. He fired his rifle from the waist at one of the enemy riders, knocking him from his horse and then Merle urged his own horse to trample the bastard. The second rider came at him and Merle swung the rifle hard, smacking his opponent in the face. He brought his horse back around and rode straight towards the marauder, clenching his thighs for what was to come. As soon as the horses collided Merle felt himself leave the saddle, propelled by his horse's speed and he flew straight into the other rider, tackling him around the waist. The two fell and Merle began hammering his adversary's face with the butt of the rifle repeatedly. Blood splattered up onto his clothes and his chin, dripping into his mouth.

A hand gripped his arm, stopping him from coming down once again. The blood wrath held onto him so that he could only see red until he saw the man who had stopped him.

Ferris. That lying, backstabbing, two-faced piece of _shit_!

Merle swiped Ferris's legs out from under him and pinned him down with his left forearm across the Scotsman's throat as he raised his knife high for the plunge.

"Wait! I was helping you! I helped, look for yourself!" Ferris begged, pointing to the carnage of the battle.

Merle saw a good six horsemen strewn across the battlefield, slain by himself, Andrea, and Rick, but beyond that there were three more.

"I saved your ungrateful ass by revealing myself as a traitor to them and I only managed to kill them because they were so intent on getting to you. There are still seven alive and they fled, and they've seen me, so I'm in as much shit as you are now."

"You're in more shit, pal, 'cuz my wife was fuckin' shot!" spat Merle, spraying Ferris with a line of saliva. "And if your friends did somethin' to my brother, I'll-,"

"Merle, get over here, Andrea needs you!" called Carol.

Abandoning Ferris in the grass and mud, Merle sprinted back to Andrea who was hyperventilating and cursing at the same time as Carol nursed her shoulder with a towel.

"Breathe, Andrea, it's alright, the shot went right through," said Glenn before Merle shoved him aside and knelt by Andrea's head.

"Take it easy, baby, you're gonna be juss fine."

"The baby—the baby…" she panted, seizing the front of Merle's shirt and pulling him into a bent over position. "Merle, the baby!"

"Baby's fine," said T-Dog. "You got shot in the shoulder, not the belly, Andrea."

"Where's Daryl when ya finally need 'im?" asked Merle angrily. "I swear, if he ain't dead already, I'mma kill 'im when he gets back, see 'f I don't!"

"Merle—the—_baby_!" screamed Andrea, shaking him.

Then Merle understood. She wasn't concerned that the baby had been hit or hurt in the action, she was telling him that the baby was coming.

_Now._


	3. Chapter 3: The Price of Pride

Merle's hands went cold as he held onto Andrea's wrist. A series of thoughts rushed through his head and he had to blink several times to clear them out; he needed to focus. Then he remembered that he had turned his back to Ferris. Snatching Rick's Colt Python from the latter's hands, Merle pulled the hammer back and turned the revolver on Ferris who was slowly making his way towards the group, weaponless and concerned.

"Is she alright?" he called, coming to a stop when he saw Merle pointing the pistol at him.

"Keep 'im back," said Merle to Glenn. He then appealed to Carol. "What do we do?"

Carol rolled up one of the sweaters from the clothes line and placed it behind Andrea's head while she set a towel underneath Andrea's entrance. "Ed wasn't there for Sophia's birth, but I remember mostly what the doctors and nurses did. We'll just have to put everything that we know about childbirth together to help her."

"Hell, what do I know 'bout childbirth?" said Merle uneasily. "I weren't there when Daryl came, I ain't never seen a child bein' born."

"Then this is a perfect opportunity for your to learn," said Rick. "It's the whole push—for—ten—seconds—and—keep—goin'—'till—the—baby's—out deal."

Andrea's fingers found Merle's face and she held her hand against his cheek. Merle nodded to her and wiped her damp bangs off of her pale and sweaty complexion. "Alright, baby, juss hang on f'me. I'mma be right here." He gave Carol the go-ahead. "Tell me what I gotta do."

"We have to take off her pants and underwear and then get wrappings ready for the baby."

Merle snapped out at Rick and T-Dog. "Y'all come 'round back here and git away from that position. She may be havin' a baby, but ch'y'all ain't gonna be starin' at something that ain't yours t'stare at."

"It's not like that," said Rick uncomfortably, but Merle shot him a death glare and so he and T-Dog came around to hold Andrea's hands. As Carol helped Andrea slide her pants off Merle cast a third towel over her legs so that her lower half was shielded from view. He didn't care if the baby was coming or not; no other man was going to be staring at Andrea's intimate areas. Just then Andrea lurched forward, fingers scrabbling for something to hold.

"Merle!" she cried out in pain.

He didn't know how to help her. Never had he felt so utterly helpless. Here she was lying in the trampled grass with a baby ready to come out at any minute and he couldn't do a damn thing to help her. She needed him now, to be there for her, but he was lost. He wasn't just clueless as to how to care for her like he had been when he was given the right to watch over Daryl, he was just _lost_ and God help him, he hated it.

"Baby, breathe f'me. I can't help you 'less you trust me, alright? Do you trust me now like you done b'fore?" He and Andrea locked eyes; he knew that she could remember when he had saved her from committing suicide, when he had asked her to put her faith in him to give her a reason to live. He needed that trust now.

"J—just get me through this, please…" Andrea whispered.

"Alright, I think you're ready to push, honey," said Carol softly. "Merle's going to count to ten and when he finishes you stop. Push, but don't forget to breathe. And try really hard not to make a sound unless you absolutely have to. Do you understand?"

Andrea nodded, biting her lip until she drew blood.

"Merle, Daryl's coming in," announced Glenn.

"Daryl, y'get your sorry ass over here and help!"

Without taking his eyes off of Andrea Merle sensed Daryl standing over him, lost for words at the sight he had arrived at. He came to his knees beside Andrea's shoulder and put his hand on it comfortingly.

"Are you ready?" asked Carol.

"Yes," Andrea choked.

"Yeah," said Merle, and then, realizing Carol hadn't been talking to him, muttered, "Sorry."

"Push."

Merle began to count, spacing the seconds as precisely as he could to avoid making Andrea spend any more time than necessary in pain. She clasped her eyes shut and her fingernails dug into Merle's hand, drawing blood. At the count of ten she collapsed back into Rick's arms, breathing raggedly.

"Easy there, Andrea, you're gonna be fine," said Daryl.

"Again, honey, let's go," urged Carol. "And, push."

This time Andrea's eyes stretched to their widest point and a small whimper escaped her lips. Merle saw his hand turning purple under her grip. He was quite relieved to reach ten this time and pulled his fingers away from her so that he could stroke her forehead.

"Merle, I need you to catch the baby while I go get some things from the trailer," said Carol. "The baby should be out in one more good push."

Merle actually laughed, though the sound was dry and hollow. "That's funny, I couldda sworn you juss said that you want me to catch the baby—with _one_ hand."

"She did, now getcher ass in position, y'idiot," said Daryl, nudging Merle over with his knee. "Go on, it's your kid comin'!"

Andrea didn't even wait for someone to give her the go-ahead before she began to push and Merle scrambled into place, holding his stump away from Andrea's entrance and Daryl counted aloud for her. His left hand was ready, fingers splayed out and prepared to catch the baby. What he wasn't prepared for was seeing the baby's head already. By the time Daryl got to seven the baby was coming free and slid into Merle's hand. He swallowed hard and held the baby before him, not sure what to do other than concentrate every fiber of his being on _not _dropping it. It wasn't until Daryl prompted him to determine the baby's gender did he notice how quiet the kid was. Almond shaped blue eyes gazed up at him as the child remained silent in his arms, not even squirming.

"Damn it, Merle, what is it?" asked Daryl.

"S'a boy."

Andrea had wanted to name the baby after her sister if it were a girl and Dale after her friend who had given his life for her if it was a boyt. Merle supposed that he was now holding Dale Dixon.

"Give him to me," said Carol, swaddling the boy in a clean towel to wipe him off. She instructed Daryl to tie off the umbilical cord and sever it as Andrea reached out a feeble hand to touch her son's cheek. A single tear rolled off the apple of her cheek and then she passed out.

"She's still bleeding," called Ferris from behind. "I can help, if you'd let me."

"Keep the gun on him, but bring him in, Glenn," said Rick. Merle came to his senses as Ferris clicked open a switch blade and had the Scotsman's wrist trapped in a vice-like grip in a heartbeat.

"Now look here, y'two-faced lyin' piece've shit, 'f anythin' happens to her, I'll use that blade to slit your own throat, y'unnerstand me?"

Ferris jerked his head.

"Merle, come with me; staying here will only put more pressure on him and Andrea really can't afford to lose anymore blood," said Carol, standing up with Dale in her arms. Reluctantly, Merle followed her inside and out of the rain where he watched her clean the boy off and rewrap him snugly. Dale was still quiet, though now his eyes were closed.

"He's beautiful," said Carol, hoping to draw some response from Merle who did not feel like talking in the least. His thoughts had trailed back to the battle that now seemed like hours ago. If he had been quicker, if he could have convinced the others sooner, he might have been able to get them rolling before the fight broke out and Andrea could have avoided that bullet, but no, as was always the case, he got the shit end of the deal and now she was paying for it. She had been shot and given birth all in the space of about fifteen minutes because his pride got in the way of common sense.

"She's going to be fine," said Carol as if she were reading Merle's thoughts. "Here, hold your son."

Before Merle could protest she placed Dale back in his arms and Merle just stood there in the doorway, taking in the sight and the wonder of the living human being who fit securely into his hand. The boy was premature, but not by much, perhaps a week. He seemed to be the perfect blend of Merle and Andrea; he had his father's eyes, his mother's hair, Merle's mouth, Andrea's nose. In the midst of the apocalypse, this baby had been born and thank God, he came forth completely silent and alive. _His _son.

_My_ _son._

Merle Dixon had enough human in him to have a child after all.

"Makes you 'preciate whatchoo got, huh?" asked Daryl from behind him. His crossbow was slung over his shoulder and he looked rather guilty. He focused on Merle's right ear rather than look him in the eye. "I found tracks and was followin' 'em, but they got to you first. Glenn told me that they already attacked. I know you couldda used my help and all, but I was on foot and they had horses-,"

"I ain't got time for your lame-ass excuses," said Merle coldly. "'F we'd lost someone, I wouldda blamed you outright for stalkin' off in a high temper when you was needed here. Next time you feel like walkin' out on us, juss do us a favor and don't come back so that we ain't relyin' on you for anythin'."

"Look, I 'pologized, didn't I?"

"Don't make it any better. Now git outta my face."

For a moment Merle felt sure that Daryl was going to swing at him despite the fact that he had a newborn in his hand, but his younger brother backed down. Merle thought he saw hurt on Daryl's face, but knew he had only imagined it because the Dixons never showed any emotion other than anger.

"Merle, can you come out here for a moment?" called Ferris.

Nostrils flaring, Merle stepped out of the trailer, carefully handing off Dale to Sophia as Ferris beckoned to him a bit farther down the hill. He dug his index finger into Ferris's chest to prove a point. "I don't r'member givin' you permission to call me by my name, y'piece've Scottish trash."

"I think we're past unpleasantries now, Mr. Dixon," said Ferris, his pointed face rather flushed. "I've done what I can for your wife, but I can't pretend that her situation isn't serious. She's lost a lot of blood and we need to get her somewhere safe where there's more help. You cannot stay here anymore. I insist that you pack up and start searching for a stronghold somewhere. You, your brother, and I can go on horseback ahead of the others while that Rick fellow drives the trailer with your wife and son. I highly suggest that you don't write off my warning as bullshit this time, sir, because your wife has already had to pay the price once for your stupidity."

Merle would have timed it at about a quarter of a second as he popped out his hand and delivered a square punch to Ferris's nose. "Call me stupid agin, I dare ya," he said dangerously. "S'your fault that we got landed in this situation in the first place!"

"Oh, _my_ fault, is it? I seem to recall one pig-headed imbecile doubting my assistance and look where _that_ landed you? You cannot afford to be prideful a second time, Merle Dixon, and neither can your wife. If not for me, you would have had no warning at all; if not for me, you might have lost someone; if not for _me_, there would be three more marauders out for your blood. Don't be a fool."

Merle's fist shook at his side. He hated that this foreigner was turning this into a situation where Merle was at fault. Ferris had the gall—the _audacity_ to talk down to him like he was some unintelligent speck of garbage? No, Merle wouldn't stand for that; he had already been put down by both of his parents who believed he would never amount to anything, yet he was, one of the few survivors of the apocalypse and he'd kept Daryl alive as well, hadn't he? He was worth a damn and he wouldn't let Ferris think that he could easily be talked down to.

"Think I ain't worth shit, huh?" he asked Ferris, coming within half a foot of his face. "Think I can't handle myself and my people? Well, pull that blowhard head outta your lily-livered ass and listen to me. I ain't scared've them marauders any more'n I'm scared've you and if you give me cause to, I'll make getting' eaten alive by walkers seem like a peaceful way to die."

"Merle, you need to make a decision," said Rick, interfering before things could get ugly. "Either we load up and find a stronghold like Ferris here says, or we sit and watch Andrea die."

"_My_ decision?" repeated Merle.

"Yes, everyone here has the right to make their own decision 'cuz you and I both had to pay the price for attemptin' to lead. Nobody leads, nobody follows. We're all equal and I am _askin'_ you what you wanna do. We all care 'bout Andrea as much as you do and now that the baby's here, we're gonna go all the way to make sure they're well looked after, but they're your family and you gotta do what you think is best for 'em."

Merle stared down at his hand and knife. He imagined riding horseback, on his own with Andrea unconscious and Dale in his arm, trying to outrun walkers. He'd never make it and neither would his family. The very thought of a walker getting its mottled gray dead hands on Dale made Merle's insides churn. Once again he'd have to depend on advice from a complete stranger and he hated it almost as much as he hated the zebra-print duct tape attaching his knife to his stump.


	4. Chapter 4: Build an Emotional Wall

Ferris, under constant and careful observation from Rick and T-Dog, slept outside under a makeshift lean-to and he had suggested that the group leave at first light. Merle had no objection to this other than the fact that Andrea had not yet woken up and he didn't want to leave to scout ahead before she did. Carol stayed by her side, holding Dale and trying her best to compensate for the absence of Andrea's breast milk by warming water, but Dale would not take it. He was already small as it was and Merle spent a good half hour taking his frustration out on their chopped wood supply because of it. It was all wrong, all bullshit. His son needed to drink, but Andrea wouldn't wake up. Daryl wasn't talking to him since their earlier argument, but Merle had had too much experience with this to care. He knew that when Daryl needed him, he'd start talking and until then, Merle was perfectly happy not listening to his younger brother bitch and moan about one thing or another.

The three horses that he, Daryl, and Ferris were to ride the next day were tethered to the side of the trailer and Merle stood out in the rain (which by now had escalated to quite a downpour) watching them graze with his arms folded. If walkers or anything else approached during the night, they would get nervous and signify danger. As of the moment, Glenn was on watch atop the trailer while sitting underneath Dale Horvath's umbrella with a blanket wrapped around him.

Dale Horvath, probably the most kind-hearted old bastard to ever live, did not know that Andrea had loved him enough to name her son after him. If he had lived, would Andrea still have named hers and Merle's son in his honor or would they have chosen a different name? It had taken the old man's death for Andrea to realize how much she cared about him, so Merle was inclined to believe that his son would have a different name, but what? He was no good with names; his parents hadn't asked his opinion at all on what to name Daryl, but rather just named him that because it sounded so similar to Merle and once the two were older, it wouldn't matter who was who. Would Merle have named his son after his old man? Hell, no, his son was a blessing, not a curse like Hank Dixon, and Merle silently wished that his dad was rotting in one of the deepest circles of hell for his cruelty. Dale Dixon had no middle name because Merle was not imaginative enough to think one up without Andrea, but at least the kid had _a_ name, right? He wasn't "the boy", was he? No, a middle name could wait. He only hoped that his son would survive long enough to receive a middle name.

_Cut it out_, he told himself firmly. _Don't think 'bout shit like that; you gotta git it t'gether, Merle, or you're gonna blame y'self if y'lose Andrea and Dale._

He was jostled from his thoughts as Carol opened the trailer and called out softly to him, "Merle, she's awake."

Soaked and chilled, Merle hurried inside to the back of the trailer where Andrea was sitting up ever so slightly with Dale nestled against her wrapped in a blanket. She was ghastly pale and it seemed like she had lost weight, though Merle knew that was impossible. He pushed Carol's stool aside and leaned over her, careful to not drip water on her or the baby.

"How y'feelin'?" he asked her quietly.

"Like shit," she answered. "But I have to feed him." She draped a blanket over her shoulders and Merle helped her set the baby into place to breast feed. "Carol told me that you and Daryl are going to go on ahead to look for a more secure location."

"Iss juss somethin' I gotta do, baby, but I'll try and check back in as much as I can."

"Have you given him a middle name?" she asked, settling her head back into the pillows.

"No, I's kinda waitin' for you to do it."

"Well, I have a name in mind, but I can already tell that you're going to throw a fit over it," said Andrea shrewdly, watching his face for reaction.

Merle regarded her somewhat coldly and rolled his eyes. "Y'wanna name 'im Daryl, don't you? You wanna name _my_ kid Dale Daryl Dixon. Hell, isn't that bad luck, three D's? 'Sides, there ain't no way in earth, heaven, _or_ hell that I'm namin' him _Daryl_."

"Daryl's your brother."

"Yeah, and that's all he is. But the kid don't need a middle name no how. And if y'think 'bout it, Dale and Daryl sound so similar that other people'll think we named him Dale Dale Dixon. Y'want the kid to go through that sorta embarrassment?"

"Who's going to tease him, Merle?" Andrea demanded, eyes shimmering. "_The other school kids_? His _teachers_? Only you and I will ever know what his full name is and no one is going to judge us or him if they find out what it is. I wish you showed more respect about these sorts of things, especially when it comes to Daryl. We all admire and respect him, except you and you're the only person whose acceptance he wants. Can't you just do that for him?"

Merle felt his temper rising, but reminded himself that Andrea had just been through two traumatic incidents in the last five hours and that she was likely to be emotionally unstable. He didn't answer her, though, becoming exceedingly interested in a strip of zebra-print duct tape on his stump.

"And this Ferris person, whoever he is, saved our lives, so you'd better watch yourself around him." At this Merle let out a snort like an angry bull, but Andrea cut him off. "He did and you're going to respect him, damn it! Those marauders would have bowled right into us and killed me with the baby inside. It's thanks to him that you've got me, so wipe that sour look off your face!"

Merle looked at her, affronted. "What look? This _is_ my face! This is how I look all the time!"

"Alright, _alright_!" shouted Andrea mostly to herself, holding her hand out as if she were trying to keep some invisible force at bay. "This isn't getting us anywhere. We need to calm down and remember that we have a son now, so we can't argue like this. Let's just talk this through."

"Ain't nothin' left to talk 'bout," said Merle unhelpfully. "I'm leavin' in the mornin' and you're stayin' here with the kid 'til I find a safe place to put you both. Rick's gonna drive the trailer out've here, so you can say your goodbye's at first light."

The short, curt way in which Merle told her this did not seem to faze her as much as his use of the term "kid". Her stunning blue eyes locked onto his dangerously and he knew he was in for another pep talk. "The _kid_? Excuse me; he is your _son_, not a kid! His name is Dale-,"

"And that's where his name ends," said Merle, intercepting her before she could get on another role. "Look, I don't wanna argue with you no more, but I ain't in the mood to be sentimental right now."

"You never have been. You can't show feelings like a normal person, can you?" said Andrea with loathing in her voice.

"That ain't my fault; what sort've emotion is someone who was never treated with kindness from anyone his whole life s'posed to show? I built a wall to keep m'self from getting' hurt when my parents blocked me out and Daryl had t'do the same thing. I do the best I can, but that wall's hard to break and I've only made little cracks in it for you at times. I don't break down, I only get riled up; that's who I am. I ain't perfect, but I'm gonna try my hardest to be a dad to this boy like my old man never was for Daryl or me. I don't know how I'm gonna do that since I've been known to have mutated into 'im sometimes as Daryl constantly reminds me, but I'm gonna try so do _me_ a favor and try and cut me some slack, huh?"

Andrea's eyes had softened and were watery. "Your parents had to have loved you to keep you alive and care for you."

"I tried to tell m'self that for the longest time, baby, but it juss weren't true. I'm alive 'cuz they had nothin' better to do than see that I got food once in a while. All they cared 'bout was each other, so it beats me how Daryl and me ever came along, but I had hope for 'im and that's why I busted my ass tryin' to protect him. Bein' a hard-ass is the only life I know and love don't mean that much in my book."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," said Andrea coldly.

Merle felt ashamed of himself. "Now, I didn't mean it like that."

"Why did we have a baby, Merle? Was it because we could and we had nothing better to do? Or did we have a child because you actually have feelings and can love?"

Merle knew that he had just dug a grave for himself and decided that to save himself any more grief, he had better shut the hell up, and so he did.

The mood in the air when Merle said goodbye to Andrea the next morning was not pleasant and the stony look on her face was not a good omen to be sent off on. He, Daryl, and Ferris were saddled and on their way by the time the sun was just peeking over the tips of the trees and when they were a good mile or two ahead, they heard the trailer kick-start far behind.

Ferris tried to brighten the mood by starting up a conversation, but since neither Merle nor Daryl were on speaking terms with each other, the situation quickly became awkward. The Scotsman inquired about Merle's hand and in less than five words Merle told him what had happened.

"I cut it off."

"Well, yes, I assumed that something of that nature had happened, but I was actually inquiring as to how it happened?"

"Dumbass didn't think to just cut off his thumb 'nstead've his whole hand," said Daryl, looking away from both of them.

Merle took out his steel baseball bat and held it out so that it touched Daryl's chest. "Here's an idea; how 'bout we handcuff _you_ to a rusted steel pipe and send walkers after _you_ and then see how clearly _you_ can think, huh? Sound good?"  
>"I had an arrow in me and a walker was makin' away with my shoe when I woke up, I bashed its head in with a stick, pulled the arrow out the wrong way and then shot another walker. And <em>then<em> I climbed out of that riverbed, walked back to Hershel's house on foot and then Andrea shot me. All that time I was dehydrated and delirious."

"You hadn't been left on a roof f'two days, boy, so I'mma be the one to tell _you_ 'bout dehydration!"

"Sound to me like both of you are a pair of hard-asses," said Ferris under the impression that he was helping, but Merle and Daryl both responded with a very prompt and fierce, "Shut—up!"

They continued on in silence for a while and when Merle was starting to feel a very uncomfortable soreness in his backside Daryl pulled them to a stop so that he could get down and examine prints in the mud. "Horses," he announced. "Looks like your marauders came by this way, Ferris."

"Damn them," cursed Ferris. "We'll have to circle around or pick a different road, or-,"

"Shut up," said Merle, "listen."

They did and heard the sounds of the dead not far from them. Urging his horse further on, Merle came to a small drop off and below he saw dozens of walkers bumping into each other, walking around dumbly without thinking—because they couldn't—to climb out. This partially explained why so few walkers had come into their area; they had fallen into this pit instead. Ferris and Daryl came to the edge of the drop off and dismounted, easing their horses back so that they weren't in danger of falling in.

"The others have been here," Ferris observed. "Look, there's a few walkers with headshot wounds lying down; I guess Carter had the boys working on some target practice."

"Carter?" asked Daryl.

"Oh, he's the self-appointed leader of the group," said Ferris dismissively. "He fancies himself as a sort of savior of misfits or whatnot, a pile of rancid bull droppings, really, but he insists that everyone practice because if you can't shoot, he can't use you."

"So what does he do to you if he can't use you?"

"Use your imagination," said Ferris with a scowl.

"Nice guy," said Merle sarcastically. "I can see why y'wanted to work for him."  
>"I didn't <em>work for him<em>," said Ferris defensively. "I was one of two loners in the group, I was my own leader, I was-,"

But Merle and Daryl never found out what else Ferris was, for at that moment the soft ground underneath the Scotsman gave way and he went tumbling down seven feet into the pit with the walkers. He made no sound as he fell, but the debris was enough to catch the walkers' attention and they made towards him. His face passive and his demeanor collected, Ferris rose up and swung the crowbar he had secured to his back for safekeeping. The curved end made contact with a walker's ear and tore out decayed flesh as Ferris pulled to unstick his weapon.

"We gotta get him outta there," said Daryl, laying down on his stomach and reaching out his hands to Ferris. "C'mon, Englishman, grab hold!"

"I am Scottish, thank—you—very—much!" cried Ferris as he swung his crowbar wide.

"Git your foreign ass over here, y'moron!" snapped Merle, stretching out his hand as he dug his knife into the ground to create a firm hold. Ferris backed up to the pit wall and extended his hands straight up so that he was able to grab hold of the Dixon's, but a walker lunged at him as the brothers pulled him up and it held onto his leg. As Merle and Daryl tugged, pulling Ferris back onto higher ground the walker came with him and Merle kicked out hard, knocking out several rotted teeth as the walker fell out of sight. Ferris thanked the two in a voice as calm and conversational as it had been before he fell in.

"As I was saying before we found this pit, we'll have to go around and get word to the others."

"Y'know, if I'dda known you was gonna talk this much, I'dda left you down there," said Merle irritably. "Next time, watch y'step, cuz it ain't my job to babysit you."


	5. Chapter 5: Nonexistent

The day hadn't been going well, even by Merle's standards, but when he looked back on it, Merle concluded that it was one of the worst, if not _the_ worst night he ever had. Things began to spiral downward after they redirected Rick and the others onto a different path. First the rain came back and twice as heavy as it had been the night before and then Ferris spotted a scouting marauder keeping watch on them and by the time Daryl had notched one of his new arrows into his crossbow, the rider had taken off. Merle expected riders to come cantering into them at any moment, but their way remained clear of all marauders and devoid of any life—or walking death—at all. They crossed into the nearest town which was completely looted. Ferris wanted to stop inside a convenience store to look for supplies, but when they did, they found two hidden walkers and Merle suffered a nasty knock to his temple when he tripped backwards over a few cabinets in alarm. Afterwards Daryl had to restrain him from wringing Ferris's neck.

They were still travelling when night fell, though the going was much slower because they had no moonlight to guide their way and they had to conserve their battery life. With his head still aching from their earlier encounter with the walkers, Merle finally took out his share of half-cooked meat from the rabbit Daryl had snagged.

Daryl yawned beside him and his head sagged onto his chest as he began to nod off. Merle veered his horse into his brother's and clouted him upside the head. "Hey, wake up and stay up, y'idiot. Nap when you're dead."

"S'not my fault that you won't let us take an hour or two for rest. I'm tryin' to stay awake."

"Try harder," said Merle curtly.

"No, he's right, Merle, we should rest for at least twenty minutes," said Ferris.

"Y'wanna stop and lie down so that a walker can take a nibble outta your foot agin? Juss tie y'self to your horse and we'll keep goin'. I'm not gonna stop; we need to find someplace to hold up."

"Oh, I forgot, nothin' matters to you right now 'cept your kid and woman, huh?"

"Hey, they're your family too, so juss keep y'mouth shut."

"My family too, are they? Y'sure 'bout that?" asked Daryl, all traces of weariness gone from his face. "I didn't know that I existed to you; I thought your mind was wrapped 'round the fact that you're the lone Dixon brother."

"Well, what's your problem, huh?" Merle demanded.

"No problem here," said Daryl, as the vein in his forehead began to pop out. "Juss tell me if I mean a damn thing to you anymore."

"'F you mean—'f you—what the hell you talkin' 'bout?"

"Keep your voice down, Merle," said Ferris.

"You stay outta this," Merle snarled. "Now, you look here, Daryl, I dunno what's got your genitals in a knot, but you need to knock it off. I'm tryin' to look out for my family—,"

"Which obviously don't include me," Daryl finished.

"Oh, shut the hell up. Know what I think? I think you're jealous, in which case your head must've been growin' up your ass for a while 'f you think I'm blockin' you out."

"You are!" shouted Daryl. "And you clearly don't want or need me with you, so I won't bother you by stickin' round."

"I told you two to keep your voice down, didn't I?" said Ferris with a groan. His horse whinnied and rose up on its hind legs, kicking madly as several walkers began to emerge from the woods on all sides of them. He brought out his crowbar and the Dixons mimicked his actions, going for their bludgeoning weapons. They fell into line behind Ferris whose horse began to gallop towards a small opening in the walkers.

"We gotta warn the others not to come this way," yelled Merle as they picked up speed.

"Then we're going to have to go the long way around—again," Ferris responded, taking a swing at a walker that was trying to pull him from atop his horse. "I'll try and lead them away while you—,"

"Hey! Get off, you bastards! No, get off!"

Merle spun around in his saddle just in time to see Daryl being dragged off of his horse by two walkers and even as his brother swung out with his weapon and took one out, another took its place. Merle knew that his horse wouldn't turn around in time and quickly dismounted, raising his bat high as he ran at the walkers and bashed it against a male walker's head so fiercely that he nearly tore the skull from the neck.

"Git up, c'mon, git up!" he hollered at Daryl, whistling for his horse as he guarded his brother. Daryl came to his feet unsteadily and Merle saw that since he had landed on his nose. it was now rapidly swelling. Blood poured forth from both of his nostrils and he swayed in place. Merle put his bat under his arm and hoisted Daryl up onto the saddle, slapping the horse on its hindquarters. The horse panicked and kicked Merle in his stomach, sending him several feet backwards.

"Stupid horse!" he cursed as he gathered himself up.

"On your left, Dixon!" warned Ferris, charging in to the rescue with his crowbar. Merle saw the Scotsman coming and ducked just as Ferris struck the walker behind him. He saw his horse coming back for him, readied himself, and then with a running leap, jumped up onto the saddle.

"Daryl, where the hell are you? Gitcher ass over here!"

Daryl, however, was confounded as his horse backed around in circles while walkers began to close in on him. With a shout of indignation, Merle rode towards his brother. "'F you git bit, I'm gonna kill you!" He reached out with his hand and grabbed Daryl's horse's reigns, tugging as he urged both steeds on after Ferris and tucking his bat back into its holster. He hugged his horse's sides with his thighs, determined not to fall off since he had no hold on the reigns, but Daryl's horse was trying to pull away and he found himself stretching sideways to keep his grip.

"Merle, get out of there! They're coming!"

"I _know_ they's comin', y'dumbass!" snapped Merle, but he had the feeling that Ferris was not referring to the walkers. He heard what Ferris most likely did and that was the sound of thundering hooves. Cursing, Merle encouraged his horse to run, which it did, by some unexplained miracle, though there was a definite catch and that was the fact that Merle now had no control over the animal whatsoever. He could only hold onto Daryl's reigns and pray that neither of them fell off and were trampled to death—though being trampled would probably be far less painful than being eaten alive. For what seemed like countless hours the horses sprinted into the night away from the oncoming marauders and Merle could hear Ferris desperately trying to slow the horses down somewhere behind or to the right, but they didn't…until they came to a drop off. On their own, they dug their hooves into the soft ground and it was only because the wind was blowing against them that they didn't go over the rim, but Merle and Daryl, who could not see the drop off until the lightning lit up the sky, were thrown into the open. Merle hit the sloping ground hard on his shoulder and began to roll, following the rushing water into a flooded river. He hit the water upside down and his world was cast into that of mass confusion. Which way was up? He had no way of telling, but kicked madly for what he thought was the right direction and then he broke through the surface of the water with a large gasp.

"Daryl!" he choked as water splashed into his face and made its way down his throat.

He saw his brother just barely conscious with his arm sticking straight up to hail him before the current swept him under. Merle sucked in breath and dived, using a forward stroke to reach his brother who was quickly drifting away. By sheer luck—or perhaps, in Daryl's case, bad luck—he smacked into an underwater boulder and became wedged between it and the current so that he went nowhere. Merle caught a fistful of Daryl's shirt and the two came up further downstream as the river carried them against their will. Suddenly Merle felt something tug on his gut and he realized that he had been lassoed like a cow by Ferris who had recovered Merle and Daryl's horses and made it down to level ground. Merle felt the rope cutting into his skin and kicked backwards to assist Ferris in hauling them in. When he could touch the river bottom with his heels, he stood up and dragged Daryl through the shallow water to a soft patch of grass where he deposited him unceremoniously.

To add to his head injury, bruised chest, numerous cuts and scrapes from the fall down the slope, and the rope burn around his middle, Merle could feel blood on his neck from a wound somewhere behind his ear. He gave Daryl's shoulder a shake to wake him and then realized that his brother wasn't breathing. Immediately he pushed down four times on Daryl's chest with his one hand, but got no response and so he faced the inevitable.

"Aaargh, son've a _bitch_!"

He pinched Daryl's nose and bent over him to administer CPR, trying not to think about what he was doing but rather what he was trying to achieve. Once again he pressed four times on Daryl's chest and once more he breathed oxygen into his younger brother. He had to repeat the process another two times before Daryl spat up river water a bit of blood, holding a hand to his heart in exhaustion. Merle sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth frantically with the back of his hand before Daryl could sit up. The younger Dixon brother blinked up through the rain at Merle and drew back in alarm either because he could not see who was kneeling over him or because he mistook Merle for a walker. His hands went for his crossbow strapped to his back and Merle was about to put a restraining hand out when the rope still attached to his midsection gave a tug and he was dragged back a few feet, landing on his already quite sore behind.

"Ferris, y'idiot, leggo've that damn rope!"

Thunder rolled overhead, followed by a horse's whinny and then another flash of lightning. Merle saw Ferris calming the other two horses as he released the rope so that Merle could untie himself. In a high temper, beaten, bruised, and utterly soaked down to his only pair of underwear, Merle made towards the horses.

"Stupid, useless animals nearly killed me! Let me at 'em!"

"Aw, just shut up y'old fart," moaned Daryl, sitting up with a hand to his head and another to his nose. He stood up, wobbling on unsteady knees and tottered towards his horse. Merle fell into step with him, half annoyed, half concerned.

"Them horses almost got both've us killed, don't go shushin' me up!"

"They wouldn'ta panicked if you'dda had proper control over 'em," said Daryl bad-naturedly. "_You_ almost got us killed, not them. They're dumber than humans—or at least the majority of them-," he gave Merle a nasty look with these words, "and they was just tryin' to make it out alive, like us. Don't go blamin' 'em for your own faults."

"_My_ faults? You're a real asshole, that's what you are," hissed Merle. "I done saved your pathetic ass three times tonight and this is the thanks I get? I thought I'd at least earn some damn respect back and git you t'shut your ungrateful mouth 'bout me not carin'."

"You only saved me 'cuz you don't want my death on your conscience," said Daryl in a stone-cold voice. "Piss off."

"Hey!"

Merle went to grab Daryl by the scruff of his neck, but apparently his brother had recovered quicker than anyone could have anticipated, for he brought his fist around to wallop Merle in the jawbone. Seeing winking stars in the starless night, Merle blinked and instinctively grabbed onto Daryl's ankle as he fell to his knees with his head swimming. "Where…you think…you're goin'?" he asked groggily in what seemed like a faraway voice to him. He saw double Daryls as his vision blurred and came back in three second intervals. "You ain't—you ain't goin'….nowhere…neither've you."

"I said to shove the hell off!"

Daryl kicked him in the eye and Merle went down on his back, feeling rain water kiss his eyes. Far above him he saw Daryl mount his horse, cast a disgusted look down on him, and ride away.

"Daryl…don't you turn your back…on me! Come back here, boy! _Daryl_!"

Ferris knelt down in the mud and took hold of Merle's shoulders to steady him as he tried to stand up in his disoriented state, calling out to the man he knew was no longer there. "_Daryl_!"

But his brother had gone and in his heart Merle knew that he was to blame.


	6. Chapter 6: Walter Four

It took him a while the next morning to figure out why he felt so miserable and then he remembered as all of his wounds from the previous night came back in full, that Daryl had gone. Unlike when Merle had been left for dead, Daryl _chose_ to leave and was therefore not likely to come back. And he had left because this time he really had felt abandoned. He believed that Merle had finally cast him out the door and locked it behind him because of the measures he was taking to protect Andrea and Dale, but that _didn't make sense._ Daryl loved Andrea and Merle had seen the look in his face when Dale was born, which suggested that no matter how much he bitched about it, he loved the boy as well. Why would he have thought that Merle was blocking him out? True, Merle had never been the ideal older brother by making Daryl's school lunch or tucking him in at night, but when it really mattered, Merle looked out for his younger brother, so how, _how_ could Daryl think that Merle didn't care for him?

It didn't matter now because the voice of reason in the back of Merle's head told him that his brother was never coming back and it was on his conscience. If Daryl met his end somewhere out facing walkers or marauders, his blood would be on Merle's hands. So he was screwed either way.

Ferris nudged him with his boot. "Oi, it's time to get moving. We have to find a way around that slope and get back to the others."

Merle didn't have the strength to reply and therefore pulled himself up onto his horse, warning the animal, "'F you throw me agin, I'mma burn a hole in your ass."

They were able to recover the ground they had lost and track the trailer to where Rick had pulled it into a small grove for protection despite the ceaseless downpour of rain. Merle asked Carol how Andrea and the baby were faring, but didn't go in to check on them himself. He couldn't stand to have another row or to have her ask where Daryl was. He took his horse onward at a very slow pace while Ferris explained what had happened to Daryl and then he met up with Merle in short order. They rode on in silence for quite a while and Merle supposed it was because Ferris felt partially responsible for Daryl's absence. When they had left the small town far behind them and the woods grew thick again, Ferris finally spoke.

"I'm sorry for your brother, I can understand-,"

"No, you can't, so juss shut up," Merle snapped.

Ferris blanched, but continued anyway. "Actually, I _do_ understand. See, my brother—well, half-brother, really—Stellan and I flew over here right before everything went to hell and we were never as close as most brothers should be, but we looked out for each other all the same. When we met up with Carter, Stellan immediately began to change and grow even more distant, even though he still watched my back. Carter had influenced him enough to make him think that he didn't have to always be there for me, which I guess was an appealing idea since he had always been more of a parent than my actual mum had been. Anyway, I told him to come to his senses and think about what was most important to him. He told me off, informing me that it wasn't my place to tell him his. We had a row which ended in Carter teaching me a lesson, or at least, attempting to." Ferris pulled up the side of his shirt and Merle could see an incredibly large burn scar that didn't look completely old running from just under his armpit to where his hipbone stopped.

"Stellan did nothing when Carter took a blow torch to my side; he just stood there and watched. Afterwards Carter told him that he had to earn his right to stay in good terms by teaching me my place. Stellan stabbed me in the thigh and I was forced to hobble along after the group, not allowed to join the fire at night or share the food they caught or gathered. This went on for about a week before Stellan snuck me a bit of meat and fruit. That was a little over a month ago. I was cast out of the group, so to speak, and basically just followed them because I felt that it was my duty to stay with Stellan, but I wasn't allowed to participate with them in anything other than looting. When Carter found your campsite and sent me out to follow you, I decided it was time to break free. Stellan had obviously washed his hands of me, so he didn't me and I didn't need him either. I turned my back on him and all of those bastards. Now, if Stellan and I meet up again, he has to try and kill me or Carter will make _him_ pay. So, if you think about it, you should be grateful that Daryl is choosing his own path to avoid any more conflict between the two of you rather than joining up with someone who wants you dead."

"That's somethin' to be grateful for, huh?"

"Yes, it is. Daryl doesn't have to or want to kill you; my brother does. Be grateful, Mr. Dixon."

%%%

Merle never thought he'd encounter someone who was as cautious or unwilling to trust as him, but by dusk that day he knew he was wrong. He and Ferris saw the building, in the middle of the woodland nowhere standing alone at the crest of a hill, casting a long and impressive shadow over the two of them. It was reinforced with steel walls and had what looked like a vault door off to the left side. There were five lookout towers (Merle thought it looked like a modern day castle) and also concrete battlements. The building's mass was large enough to house several dozen people and probably endless supplies. Another building taller in height but smaller in length and width stood inside the ramparts.

"_Sh—it_," breathed Ferris.

"Alright, that's far enough, fellas, keep your hands where we can see 'em," called a voice from above and Merle saw a man's silhouette appear with a rifle at the battlements. He half-expected to have heard a voice similar to Ferris's shout, "Halt, who goes there?", but chided himself for his stupidity. This was Georgia, not England and no one nowadays used the word _halt_.

Merle and Ferris both held up their arms and the lookout yelled down again, "Drop the knife, sir."

"I can't," Merle called back. "Iss duct taped in place. I ain't got a right hand."

"Are you bitten?" asked the man in concern.

"No, we aren't," said Ferris.

"Well, state your business."

"We're seeking shelter, but of course, everyone is nowadays, right?" Ferris began. "We're scouting ahead and we have eight more behind us in a trailer; five adults, two children, and a newborn baby. The mother is in critical condition and we need medical assistance. I know you don't take kindly to strangers, especially with marauders and the lot roaming around, but we're begging you, sir, to let us in."

"Oh, eight more behind you in a trailer, huh?" said the lookout skeptically. "That's some of the finest bullshit I've heard this month. How'm I supposed to know that you won't come in here and open the doorway for your _friends in the trailer_ so that you all can tear the place down? Nice try, buddy."

"Hey, what's your name?" asked Merle, getting thoroughly annoyed as he sat in the building's shadow with his back to the woods.

"Kale."

"Well, Kale, unstick your head from your rear end and let us in," Merle snapped. "'F y'wanna wait 'bout half an hour you'll see the trailer and then you'll haveta issue us an apology. So, would y'rather juss let us in now or beg our forgiveness later, huh?"

"Well, it looks like I'm the one who's in the shelter, mister, so I'd be more polite if I were you," said Kale nastily.

"Politeness never suited me," Merle retorted.

"If you pose a threat to us, we can take you out from four positions, hard-ass, so why don't you just shut up?"

"Why don't you come down here and let me beat your ass?" Merle suggested, half-dismounting, but Ferris held him in place.

"Kale, what the hell are you yelling at?" asked another voice and Merle saw a second man appear, taller than the first and by the shape of his head, Merle could conclude that he was bald. He heard the two arguing in low voices until finally the newcomer shouted, "I don't care if they insulted your Great Aunt Marjolene, you don't have the say to turn humans away without good cause and those two do _not_ look like raiders to me. The goodness of humanity is the only thing we have, and if we can't trust it, we can't survive, so go cool off and let me deal with them."

Kale's silhouette disappeared and the second man waved down to Merle and Ferris. "Sorry about that, Kale's not very trusting, but he's got damn good eyesight. Now, I'm willing to let you in on account that you leave your weapons on your horses and come in unarmed. I'll have someone bring the horses in after you and then we'll wait to see if your trailer companions show up. Does that sound reasonable?"

"I ain't takin' this knife off," said Merle, holding his arm up. "Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to find duct tape and for that matter, _gray_ duct tape? 'F I take this off, I might never git it back on agin."

"Then we'll have to detain you until we have a good reason to fully trust you," said the bald man.

"Just go with it," said Ferris without moving his lips to Merle.

"Alright, fine," Merle agreed.

They dismounted and left their weapons in the saddlebags, walking over to the vault door with their hands on their head in surrender. The door made a series of metallic clicks and then it swung inward. Four men appeared and promptly tied Merle's arms behind his back while Ferris's wrists were bound in front of him as they were led inside. It wasn't much to look at but it did look like a castle much more from this side. Men, women, and a few children walked here and there and they looked relatively at ease, so Merle assumed that the structure was stable and defendable against an attack. There were three or four fire pits throughout the courtyard and the nearest one threw the bald man's face into light as he descended the stone steps to greet them. He had a vivid brownish-orange mustache and a small beard.

"Well, formalities aside, I'm Thane Walters and I'm one of the three founders and owners of Walter Four."

"Alright, that makes _no_ sense," said Ferris, looking confused.

"My siblings and I had three other fortresses like this made throughout the east coast about a year before the break out for fun, out of curiosity, and because we had enough money to do so. I mean, why have money if you aren't going to spend it? Originally these buildings were going to be documented in a series about modern day fortresses versus the ones used back in the tenth and eleventh centuries, but the apocalypse happened before we got a chance, so we just stocked up here. People come and go, but a few of us have stayed ever since the break out. We train people to use weapons and the lookout you just met, Kale, is one of the best sharp shooters we have, though he can be—from lack of a better word—an asshole sometimes."

"We noticed," said Merle.

"That's my twin sister Myah over there," said Thane, pointing out a woman with a fiery red hair who was piling more firewood up next to one of the pits. "And the man with black hair next to her is our older brother Braxton." Thane turned back to Merle. "I apologize for not being able to shake your hand, but I'm glad to have you here, if you're going to be of help."

"Merle Dixon."

"Ferris."

Thane had Merle and Ferris sit down on lawn chairs where they waited for a good forty-five minutes for Rick and the others to show up. Finally, another lookout called, "We've got a trailer coming up from the south!"

In no time Merle, Thane, Ferris, and Rick had come to an agreement and the party unloaded as Merle and Ferris were untied. T-Dog and Glenn carried Andrea in and Carol followed up carrying Dale. Inside the smaller structure two rooms were cleared out for the newcomers and a medic tended to Andrea. By midnight (or so they guessed since no one really kept time anymore) they were all settled in, introductions had been made, their weapons had been returned, and they had been given a late-night meal. Rick extended his thanks to Thane over and over and promised that they would do their part to repay the favor.

Merle offered to take over a lookout position for the night, declined a poncho and climbed the winding stairs to the northeast tower. He crossed his arms on the battlements and scanned the tree line below, wondering where Daryl was and hoping that the knock to his head and nose hadn't impaired his abilities. In all honesty with himself, he was praying that Daryl would find Walter Four and choose to stay before he found out that Merle was here as well.

%%%

In one short month—by Thane's calculations—Merle's party had completely adjusted to life inside Walter Four. Andrea had recovered from her bullet wound, Dale was growing at a healthy rate, and the inhabitants of the fortress had readily and willingly accepted the Atlanta survivors. But Merle, thankful as he was that they had found shelter, could not pull himself out of the pit of depression that had been dug by Daryl before he left. He hated to admit to himself that he missed his younger brother and he constantly managed to fool himself into thinking that he was only concerned for his brother's well-being. On nights when Andrea was too exhausted to put Dale back to sleep, Merle would sit upright in bed in deep thought with the boy in his hand and for some unexplained reason the boy would immediately drift back off to sleep, almost as if his father's hand was a warm blanket, his mother's breast milk, and a rocking chair motion all in one. Andrea knew better than to pester Merle about his distantness, but she would put her hand against his chest every night before she turned over and went to sleep as if she were telling him without words that she knew what ailed him.

People held Merle in high regard, even Kale who had considerably warmed up to him since their first encounter. Merle had to hold his temper in check because children, mainly boys were constantly following him around and asking him questions about his hand. Most times Ferris or Carol would rescue him, but on several close-calls he had to barricade himself in the restroom until he was certain that they had gone. He and Rick helped train those who were less experienced in the ways of combat, for which Thane, Braxton, and Myah were very thankful.

In June the weather grew hotter and more humid and so they spent their time in the shade of the small building taking stock of their weapons and instructing some of the teenage boys how to sharpen their blades. Rick had patience to no end, but when one of the boys nearly sliced his finger open again Merle couldn't help but go off on him.

"Damn it, Robbie, didn't I tell you to watch y'self? Didn't I?"

"Oh, let him alone, Merle," said Rick. He lowered his voice to a murmur. "Look, I know you're still feeling guilty about Daryl and I know what that's like. I couldn't do anything for Shane-,"

"I get 'nough pep talkin' from Andrea, I don't need none from you," said Merle heatedly.

Rick opened his mouth to reply when Kale yelled out, "Riders coming in!"

Merle snatched up his rifle and dashed up the steps to look over the battlements. He saw close to forty men on horseback approaching from the closest town direction. The leader chose four other men to accompany him to the fortress while the others remained behind. When they stood at the foot of Walter Four they craned their necks up and the leader shouted, "We're looking for shelter and we'd be obliged if you could offer us some!"

"Forty-some men need shelter?" laughed Kale. "It looks like you're doing just fine on your own. If you're in need of a medic or supplies we might be able to help you, but we can't accommodate all of you, sorry pal."

"Would you turn away fellow human beings?" asked the leader in a silky voice that Merle didn't like one bit. It stressed calmness but also underlying anger.

"I know him," said Ferris, appearing at Merle's side. "That's Carter."

"Ferris! Is that you up there, old friend?" called Carter in surprise as he caught sight of Ferris.

"_Old friend_ my ass, Carter, you can go to hell where you belong!" Ferris shouted back.

"I see your brother still lives the life of pig-headedness, Stellan," said Carter to the rider on his left. Stellan looked as if he could be close to Merle's height and had a mat of dirty blonde hair. Merle saw Ferris swallow as he looked down on his brother.

"Ferris, don't be an idiot, let us in," said Stellan.

"Piss off," said Ferris.

"We'll find a way in either way, Ferris," warned Carter. "Things will go easier if you just let us in so that we can take what we need and then we'll be on our way."

"You're full of shit, y'know that?" called Merle, cocking his rifle so that the riders below could hear.

The riders all rested their hands on their weapons except for one and Merle's heart took a nose-dive plunge into his stomach as he saw who it was.

Daryl.


	7. Chapter 7: Betrayal, Befriend, Bullsh&

Unbeknownst to Kale, Daryl was watching Merle with a look of contempt on his face. He had a fresh cut running across the bridge of his nose and Merle was prepared to bet his zebra-print duct tape that Carter had put it there. Ferris watched Merle cautiously and nudged him with his shotgun ever so slightly in warning. Merle knew that Daryl would have told Carter anything to get into his good books but there was a slight chance that Carter didn't know Daryl's relation to Merle. At the moment, however, Merle didn't give a rat's ass what Carter knew or didn't know. He hacked up a line of saliva and spat at Daryl. Not for nothing he had won many back yard beer spitting contests and his aim proved true as his spit struck Daryl right in his open eye.

"You backstabbin', puny fuckin' animal!" he roared, mounting the battlements. "I'll kill ya!"

Carter looked from Daryl to Merle and back again and seemed to make the connection. "Oh, I see now; he's your brother. Well, you failed to mention _that_, Daryl. Is your loyalty towards him or me?"

"I'm down here, ain't I?" said Daryl, avoiding answering directly.

"Merle, get down, what do you think you're doing?" asked Ferris, wrapping his hand around Merle's ankle. "If you jump from this height you'll end up breaking your legs or paralyzing yourself, but I doubt you'd even get that far because Carter would have you shot out of mid-air, so get back down here before I have to drag you down!"

"Merle, is it?" asked Carter, smirking at Merle with an evil look in his eyes as if he knew something that Merle didn't. "While I do hate Ferris, I have to admit that he is right when he says that I'll have you shot out of mid air if you try and jump down here, or rather, I'll have Daryl shoot you out of the air."

Ferris and Kale both had to seize Merle at these words and even called desperately for back up as Merle clawed and fought to get at Carter. "Leggo've me, leggo! I'll kill 'im, I'll kill both've 'em! Damn it, y'all let me go or I swear-!"

"Think about what you're doing, Merle!" Ferris pleaded.

Merle freed his hand and pointed viciously at Daryl. "This is it, then, huh? This is what I brought you up for? So you could shit on me and turn traitor? I've got you marked, boy! I'mma make you pay for leavin', see'f I don't! You'll regret the day you was born when I'm through with ya! Call y'self a Dixon? You're a coward and nothin' but trash, that's what you are! I—will—_kill_—you!"

"Save it, Merle," said Daryl roguishly.

Letting out a howl of rage, Merle elbowed Ferris and Kale aside, snatched up his rifle, and took aim. Ferris managed to mess up his aim by knocking into the back of his knees, but Merle saw his bullet whiz over Daryl's head and that was probably was what caused Carter to order his men to fall back and fire simultaneously. Carter shouted something to Daryl as Merle climbed back onto the ramparts with his rifle ready. He met Daryl's gaze just as his younger brother fitted one of his new arrows into his crossbow and held Merle in his sights. He was ready and Merle was not; he had Merle in perfect range and could hit him anywhere he wanted.

"Shoot him, Daryl!" Carter thundered.

"Merle!" screamed Andrea from Merle's left.

There was pain on Daryl's face and his right eye closed and fluttered back open in a split second. It looked like he had just blinked to refocus his gaze, but Merle had the strongest suspicion that it was a wink. A moment later he knew he'd been mistaken as Daryl fired. Merle's hip suddenly felt quite hollow and he looked down to see the arrow protruding from his side before he fell. If not for Ferris's quick reflexes, Merle would have become a permanent grease spot on the courtyard floor, but the Scotsman caught him by his belt loop and Merle hung upside down as Thane and Braxton rushed to stand below and catch him. Ferris dropped him safely into their awaiting arms and the brothers straightened him up just as Andrea reached him. Fuming, Merle grabbed the feathered end of the arrow and yanked the damn thing out, squirting blood everywhere as he did so. His anger matched the pain as he stormed towards the vault door. Rick and Ferris intercepted him with their hands held out to try and calm him.

"Now, Merle, this ain't gonna solve nothin', so just keep calm," Rick advised.

"You git the hell outta m'way and don't you _dare_ try'n tell me my business!" Merle snarled. "He can't do that to me, I'll show 'im!"

"Merle, don't make us hurt you."

Where had he heard that before? Rick and Shane had warned him when his temper had been flying high to calm down, but of course he didn't listen and the result was—bad. Soft, cold hands found his face and through his blood lust he saw Andrea standing before him, willing him to come to his senses. Her lips formed words, but he didn't—couldn't hear. His fist released and he became aware of blood trickling down his side, into his pants, and around his leg in small waterfalls. He leaned into her and she slung his arm around her shoulders to hold him up, talking to him in a soothing voice.

"It's alright, don't worry."

Thane called over their medic to bind Merle's wound but during the time Merle had his eyes set on the vault door, imagining what was happening on the other side. How could Daryl do that? Had his feeling of loneliness really led to abandonment and betrayal? Merle refused to believe that he had been the cause of his brother's treachery. If there was one thing he took pride in for teaching Daryl, it was to remain faithful to family over anyone else, so why—the—_hell _had he left? Along with the hole in his side, Merle felt as if a void had replaced the spot he used to nurture for Daryl.

"Stand up now, Merle, let's go back inside," said Andrea. He allowed her to lead him back to the room they shared with Rick and Carl and helped him sit down on the edge of the fairly new bed. She nestled in close to him, watching him closely.

Merle turned his knife over so that his forearm was facing upward. He had let out after cutting off his hand, but Daryl had continued looking for him to the best of his ability, hadn't he? So should he feel inclined to find Daryl now and discover the reason for his infidelity? No, Merle already knew the reason, he knew that Daryl was lurking close by, and he wasn't worried about Daryl surviving. Right now he was probably explaining his reason for missing Merle in his shot to Carter, but that was another question; _why_ had he missed? He could easily have put the arrow through Merle's eye socket or heart, but he chose to shoot Merle through the side, resulting in a flesh wound. Did that mean that perhaps he didn't hate his older brother as much as Merle thought he did?

The thought wasn't that comforting.

He couldn't just _sit_ here, though. He was someone who needed to be moving around, being productive for his own pleasure, and staying inside Walter Four while Carter, Daryl, and Stellan plotted against them was unthinkable. No way in hell was he going to sit it out and wait for the attack to come.

"I know what you're thinking about doing," said Andrea, her voice commanding his attention with its gentleness. "I won't tell you not to do it because it's not my place, but I am going to beg you to be careful and remember who he is. The reason for his leaving might be different than you think. I know you think you're right, but you Dixons have a bad habit of acting first and this time you might really regret it. Your brother's life is on the line, so just _remember who he is_, and above all, come back to us."

She leaned forward, rose slightly off of the bed and kissed him right over his eyebrow. "When are you going to leave?"

"Tonight."

He knew it was going to be difficult getting past the vault guard, but by far the hardest part of his escape was sneaking along the inner walls without the lookouts seeing him. Holding his knife against his chest to keep it from clinking against the wall, he sidled along the lower rampart. He had a bat, a pistol, and a rifle, but he would have to leave on foot since there was no way he was getting out of Walter Four unnoticed with a horse. At the vault he suspected that he would have to jump the guard, knock him out, and store him in the shadows, but to his surprise he found the door guarded by Ferris and Thane.

They were waiting for him, equipped similarly to his fashion.

"I know Carter," said Ferris. "You'll need my help."

"And consider this as payback for helping to train the people," said Thane, looking like he had lockjaw. "Braxton will hold down the fort while I'm gone."

"Well, I don't need your help," said Merle shortly. "Git outta m'way."

Ferris laughed, a rather pleasant sound as his face broke into a smile. Merle suspected that this was an action in which he did not often engage. "If it were you going out to take care of a dozen walkers, I would gladly let you out alone, but you're going up against about forty heavily armed men on horseback; no way in hell am I going to let you go solo."

"And if I told ya that t'weren't your place to butt into my business, what then?" asked Merle, trying to get around the two.

"Then I'd tell you something rather unpleasant that would get us nowhere in this conversation, so I'm just going to let you pass and then follow you," said Ferris conversationally.

"That goes for me as well," said Thane.

"You two are only gonna slow me down, and I'll be damned 'f I'mma have more blood that ain't mine to shed on my hands. Thane, you ain't got a clue what's out there, you ain't never left the safety of your fort here."

"True, but I can fight and you could use me because I have knowledge of the area thanks to my scouts."

"Just stop trying to argue your way out of this and go already. There's no shame in not admitting that you need help. You've made it very clear that you don't need or want us, but let's pretend that we're oblivious to that fact so that your pride isn't at stake and we can still go along. Sounds like a damn good deal to me."

Seeing that he was not going to get rid of the two busybodies, Merle rolled his eyes and opened the vault door. The three of them stole out onto the grass, keeping a wary eye above to make sure that the lookout didn't spot them. They made a run for the trees, making absolutely no noise. Ferris stubbed his foot on something in the dark and made a sound like an angry bull (Merle was surprised that steam didn't billow out of his nose) as he continued on. When they were well out of the way of Walter Four Thane brought them to a stop.

"There's a ramble shack about a mile further this way if you want to hold up there for a bit."

"We ain't lookin' to rest, we're lookin' to pick up a trail," said Merle. "Git me a light so I can search the ground."

Ferris shined his flashlight on the ground and low and behold, they saw hoof prints crisscrossing in the dirt and grass. Here and there Merle saw aimless human footprints as well and figured that the riders had come through to take out some walkers. The prints were fresh and Merle concluded that the riders had gone off to the south once again, towards the town they had no doubtedly looted. He motioned to the other two to follow him and they pursued the marauders, though the going was slow in the dark. They soon heard voices and saw the eerie orange glow of firelight. Creeping closer, they saw that the marauders had dismounted and formed a half circle around a man so that he stood in between a wall of horses and the bushes. Near the bushes there were four walkers that all were advancing on the lone man.

Merle didn't need to guess to know that the loner was Daryl. Coming down to his knees, he snuck forward and peered through the bushes so that he had a bit of an upside down vantage point. Daryl had no man made weapons, only a jagged rock and thick branch. Behind him Carter was egging him on while Stellan stood in the shadows, mouth turned down in disapproval. Daryl rushed at the nearest walker and jabbed the rock into the damned thing's temple. Purplish-red blood spewed out and the walker dropped, but Daryl had no time to celebrate as he beat his branch repeatedly into a second walker's nose. With two left, Daryl was tiring after using his energy on weapons he knew how to use but hoped he never would have to. He punched a walker in its face and it fell over, giving Daryl the perfect opportunity to pounce and stomp on its ugly mug until his foot made the bone structure cave in. The last walker seemed to be an insult more than an opponent and Daryl punctured two fist sized-holes in its skull with his weapons. When he had finished there was scattered applause from among the marauders, but most of them looked either shocked that he had survived or wary at such a fierce opponent.

Spitting on the last corpse, Daryl glared at Carter. "You had 'nough fun or y'wanna try'n humiliate me s'more? Well, I'm ready! Gimme your best shot!"

"Alright, he's proved himself, Carter, so let's pack up and leave now," said Stellan.

Merle felt something grab his ankle and he jerked in alarm, but saw that it was only Ferris motioning to him. The Scotsman beckoned him to crawl backwards, which he did and they slunk away to hold a whispered conversation with Thane.

"I know what you're thinking of right now, but you have to rethink your strategy," said Ferris. "If you charge in there for whatever purpose, Carter will have you shot or taken hostage, tortured, tried for ransom, and _then_ shot. It's suicide and it won't help anyone, so let's just think about this."

"I don't have time to think," said Merle impatiently.

"Then we'll make time. If you act on 'Merle instinct' then I'm going to have to deliver the bad news to your widow. It's cliché, but you don't want your kid growing up fatherless, do you? Especially because there's already so much that he won't have."

"I-," Merle began, but had no time to finish as he saw the darkness discharge a walker directly behind Thane. Using the butt end of his rifle, Merle smacked the walker in its nose. No sooner had Ferris silenced the bastard with his crowbar that six more emerged from all sides. The three swung, punched, clawed, and stabbed, hoping against hope that the marauders would not hear them despite the fact that they weren't using their artillery and still managing to create a racket, but shouts rose from the rear and they knew that in moments they would be overrun. Walkers swarmed in from the right, marauders were closing in from the left. A horse's whinny sounded and Merle pushed Thane out of the way as a mare galloped into view, knocking over a walker as it came to a stop beside Ferris.

They heard a gunshot and the next moment Thane keeled over, spitting out blood as he clutched at a bullet wound right above his lung. Merle hoisted him onto the back of the horse so that his arms and legs were hanging over either side and then he waved frantically at Ferris. "C'mon, you're next! Git 'im back to Walter Four, I'll cover ya!"

"Merle-,"

"Go now!" Merle smacked the horse on its hind parts and it took off, trampling another three walkers. Merle opted to use his pistol, taking a walker down every second until he ran dry. He had no time to reload and so he dropped his pistol and switched to his bat-knife technique. He hadn't been fighting more than thirty seconds when heavy fire overhead announced the arrival of the marauders. Those who did not chase down the walkers surrounded Merle and Carter was among them. He smirked down at Merle and shook his head.

"Maybe Daryl was wrong; maybe you're the toughest, _stupidest_ son of a bitch he ever knew," he said maliciously. He signaled to one of the men behind Merle who felt something hard knock into a soft spot on his skull. His eyes slid out of focus and he blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8: Blood on My Hands

The first thing Merle became aware of was the fact that his arms had been secured so tightly together behind his back that they had rubbed away a layer of skin and caused him to bleed. He realized that he had been thrown onto his stomach and therefore rolled onto his side, squinting against the small amount of light that the rain allowed to pass through the clouds. The ground beneath him was muddy and a coating of it had caked onto the side of his face. He remembered Ferris riding away with Thane in critical condition on horseback and then Carter leering at him and he groaned. A foot came out of nowhere and kicked him in the small of his back.

"Shut up," someone behind him barked.

"Piss off," retorted Merle, for which he received another kick, this time to his arrow wound. He held his breath to keep from making a sound; revealing a wound to the enemy was probably the stupidest thing he could do at the moment besides keep talking. Then again, he wondered why the hell he was still alive if Carter had no use for him and no one had vouched for him. If Carter hoped to use him as a hostage, he was in for some major disappointment because if Thane was still alive and in charge, he would never trade the safety of all the people in Walter Four for Merle. If Thane didn't have the authority to give that call anymore, Braxton would definitely not barter with these marauders.

Merle was on his own.

"Sit him up," said Carter's voice from above.

Rough hands forced Merle into a sitting position and he heard men laughing on all sides. Great, he was entertainment for sadistic marauders now. He saw Daryl and Stellan standing on either side of Carter whose arms were folded across his chest as his dark face observed Merle with interest.

"I thought that the hit to your head would have bashed your skull in, but we do tend to luck out every once in a while," he said, looking uglier by the second. "Not that it matters, though, because now Daryl's going to have a chance to kill you properly this time."

"I already shown you what I can do, I ain't doin' nothin' more for your pleasure, y'sick bastard," said Daryl coldly.

"You'll do as you're told," Carter snapped, pointing to the knife in Daryl's belt. "I know you can use makeshift weapons and I know you can shoot, so now it's time to see if you're any good with that Bowie knife of yours." He jerked his head at Merle. "Get him up and untie him."

With dread in his heart, Merle let two men slice his bonds open and he stood up, immediately on his guard, prepared for whatever was to come. His thoughts strayed to Andrea and the baby. What had Ferris said? '_You don't want your kid growing up fatherless, do you?_'

Oops.

_M'sorry, lil' guy, I guess Daddy won't be makin' it home after all._

"Go on, Daryl," said Carter, jabbing his thumb at Merle. "Go get him and make him pay for all the hurt he's inflicted on you. Show him how you're stronger. Go on!"

"No," said Daryl. "'F you ain't satisfied with what I done, then you can go to hell in a hand basket. I don't kill for pleasure, least've all human beings. I'll put down a walker for you, but I ain't gonna kill someone who's still breathin'."

"Then there isn't any use for him," said Carter in a bored voice, motioning for his men to aim their weapons at Merle.

"Oh, just let him go, he can't do anything without weapons," said Stellan.

"When I want your advice I'll ask for it, Orwell," said Carter in a final sort of way. Merle wondered briefly who he was talking to and then realized that Orwell was obviously Stellan's last name and in which case, it was also Ferris's.

"I won't do it," said Daryl firmly.

"Then he dies right here and now," said Carter, pulling his own pistol on Merle.

"No!"

Carter sneered as if he had caught Daryl with his hand in the cookie jar. "So you lied to me when you told me that your brother doesn't mean shit to you anymore? If he's not worth a damn then fight him and kill him! Do it now!" He shoved Daryl out towards Merle and both brothers froze.

After a full ten seconds Merle was the first to move. "Well…c'mon then, lil' brother. You wanted this, didn'tcha? You _wanted_ this, so come git what you paid for. Iss juss you'n me and no one who gives a shit 'bout the two've us is here to stop us from goin' the whole way, so less have it out."

"I ain't fightin' you," said Daryl walking to his left so that they began to circle each other in the classic standoff fashion. "Y'ain't worth my time."

"Yeah? Well, 'f you're so confident juss end it right now! Grab a gun and put a bullet in my head, y'coward! Traitor! Fuckin' _coward_!" Merle snatched up a rock and threw it at Daryl where it struck his brother in the neck. "C'mon!"

Carter gave Daryl another shove and the fight began. Unlike the last time the two were in hand-to-hand combat, Daryl was stronger and Merle was weaker, but somehow, Merle managed to hold his own. His fury fueled him and not without reason. He was fighting for his life—against his brother, but what was his motivation? To survive for a few moments more just to prove that he was more powerful than his brother?

Some motivation.

Daryl's knife, Merle noticed, was held in an underhand grip as if Daryl were waiting for the opportunity to thrust down rather than jab up. Merle saw an opportunity and feinted to the left before moving in on the right. As anticipated, Daryl saw through his move and stepped off to the left. Halfway to the right Merle changed directions, ducked down, and swiped Daryl's legs out from under him. When Daryl was down Merle dived on top of him and wrenched the knife out of Daryl's hand before trapping his throat in his left hand while pointing his knife at Daryl's jugular.

The marauders went silent. The sweat from Merle's forehead dripped onto Daryl's face and he gulped as his steady arm held the knife in place. He had Daryl beaten and at his mercy.

"Go on, then," said Daryl barely audibly. "S'what you want, isn't it? To be rid of me at last so that I don't weigh you down?"

He didn't move, staring at Daryl as his brother stared right back, reading the emotion, or lack thereof, on his face. Rain poured down on them as Merle hovered in striking position over his sibling. They both knew what would happen if Merle finished Daryl off—game over, but if Daryl suddenly emerged victorious, he would be allowed to live on and follow Carter to hell.

_Remember who he is_.

Andrea had beseeched him to remember what Daryl was to him; kin, flesh, blood, his brother and the one person who Merle had gone through hell to protect. What could be gained from killing Daryl? What satisfaction would be earned? And even if by some miracle Merle survived to return to Walter Four, how could he face Andrea and the others and tell them Daryl was dead—how could he raise his son in the knowledge that he had murdered his own brother?

He couldn't.

Andrea and his son were safe in Walter Four. They would survive without him and they would never know his decision to kill.

Daryl's profile disappeared and Merle saw a familiar cream-colored hat, a wizened old face with white and gray whiskers, wide piercing eyes, a pointed nose—the face of Dale Horvath, his son's namesake. Dale said nothing as he and Merle locked eyes. In his arms was his rifle and Merle could see that it was loaded. Dale turned his head left, right, and center before firing off a round into the sky and Merle understood.

The shot meant for Daryl.

His brother's face came back to him and he raised his knife high. He saw Daryl's eyes expand in fear and resignation…

With an agonizing cry Merle plunged the knife into the mud beside Daryl's head. He gave a sharp exhale; back-hand slapped Daryl, came back around for a punch, and then spat on his face.

"You r'member this day, Daryl Dixon," said Merle in hardly more than a whisper. "Don't you ever forget what I done here." He stood up and backed away, rounding on Carter. "This here fight's over, motherfucker. I won, so go on and shoot me or face me y'self if you're man 'nough."

Carter scowled and raised his eyebrows as a signal. The men behind Merle struck him across the shoulder blades and whacked the back of his legs to bring him down. He fell, feeling objects battering into him, feeling cruel hands deliver punishing blows. Feet kicked out at every part of him they could reach and he felt his ribs crack. This was how he would die—being beaten by cowards, curled up in a ball on the ground.

Hell, no. No, _no_, NO!

He grabbed onto one man's wrist, wrenching it back until the bone snapped and forced the finger on the trigger to fire into the man's face. A hand seized him by the hair and held him in place as another moved in to slit his throat.

"NO!"

Daryl shoved his way through the marauders with the knife Merle had kicked away in his hands. He stabbed it down into the man's arm who held Merle up. Out of nowhere Carter sliced out with a blade of his own and Daryl hit the ground, hand scrabbling for his face. Merle saw blood splatter out, washing away with the rainwater. Daryl swore and beat his fist against the mud, howling.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Daryl Dixon, to not underestimate my mercy or take it for granted. You failed to kill your brother twice and you should be thanking me on bent knee for my leniency that I haven't yet had you killed!"

"They'll negotiate with you if you have him!" sobbed Daryl through his hand which was now covered in blood. "There's people inside who'll want 'im back! They'll parley, but not if y'give them a dead body!"

"They have supplies that we need, no doubt," piped up Stellan. "We could use him, Carter. That asshole brother of mine will want him safely back inside because he thinks that this man here is a _friend_, which is why he turned on us back at their campsite. Trust me, these people will do almost anything to make sure that their friends and families stay alive."

Carter considered Stellan for a moment and then tilted his head sideways to look at Daryl. He cocked his Beretta and dug it into Daryl's temple. "If I don't get something in compensation for all the trouble your brother has caused me, Daryl, _you'll_ join him in being bait for the prowling monsters, do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah, clear," said Daryl with as much contempt as he could fit into his voice.

Carter ordered that Merle be bound again and the marauders retreated into the shelter of the trees with Daryl still kneeling in the mud to guard him. Merle watched him without words for a good fifteen minutes before Daryl pulled his hand away and cupped rainwater in it until the blood cleared and then he took a sip. He turned his head sideways and Merle felt a shiver run up his spine.

Daryl's left eye was gone. Carter had taken it out with his blade and now all that remained was soft, exposed flesh with tiny tendons and membrane left. Slicing off a sleeve of his shirt, Daryl wrapped the cloth around his head so that it covered his eye like a temporary eye patch. He gathered up his gear, whistled to his horse, and stood up.

"I ain't never told you what happened the day I had my own arrow in me," he said in a strange voice, laden with grief. "I hallucinated—about you. Same ol' shit I always heard from you; that I wasn't good 'nough, that you busted your ass tryin' to make me into a man and that I let you down. Y'insulted me and put me down and told me that I weren't worth a flyin' fuck to you. I had your damn voice in my head the whole time I was tryin' to make it back to Hershel's farm, but I beat it out 'cuz _I_ knew that I was good 'nough and so did everybody else. I survived 'cuz I wanted to prove to you that I was worth somethin' even though you wasn't even there. Funny thing is, even though you called me worthless and half a man, you called me brother. I wanted to believe that you still cared 'bout me deep down inside that small pumping organ you call your heart. Nine months later I thought I that you'd finally pulled your head free've your ass and learned to accept me for who I am, but then you done had that baby. You only care 'bout what's workin' for you at the moment, and at the moment it's Andrea and Dale. Be honest with y'self, big brother, I'm just a burden to you."

"We been through this b'fore," said Merle. "I tolja how it is and I ain't wronged y'since I came back at Hershel's farm, but _you_ left me. You chose power and revenge over your family and that ain't redeemable, son. It ain't juss me you stabbed in the back, you put the others, your friends, in danger. Two kids—and a newborn baby may die 'cuz you hate my guts."

"Y'know, if I'dda known that I's gonna be born to the Dixon family, I wouldda asked God to just deny me life and never let me exist so that I only wouldda been the—man—that—almost—was. Family ain't worth a damn out here, Merle, it's just survive and do what you have to. I'm survivin'."

"And how's that workin' out for ya?" asked Merle. "Enjoyin' life? Full've entertainment and joy by killin' innocent people and terrorizin' anyone left livin'? I hope God strikes you down for your sins, boy. I spared you once; 'f I'm forced to fight you agin, I _will not_ hold back next time, y'unnerstand?"

Daryl's one eye blinked. "So this is it, then, huh? Are we done?"

"We're done."


	9. Chapter 9: Waiting at the Gates of Hell

Merle had just about had enough of being dragged around when he was shoved face-first from behind into the mud for the seventh time. It was hell on his ribs every time he had to pick himself up again. The marauders rode on horseback while Merle was forced to walk, bound by his left wrist to one of their saddles and every time the bastard urged his horse to go faster Merle lost his balance and kissed the mire. His beaten body was swollen in places and quite tender in others, but he made no sound, refusing to give in to their satisfaction. He couldn't see Daryl or Stellan from where he was, but even if he could, he doubted whether they would help him. Stellan didn't even know him; he didn't give a damn about his own brother, so why the hell would he choose to help Merle? And then Daryl…Daryl was gone.

Again.

But this time it was worse because Merle knew where he was and was in close proximity to him, but they had severed ties. It was over and now all that mattered was letting Andrea know how he had tried…and failed.

He hit the mud again and cursed, "Damn it, y'ugly son've a bitch, cut that shit out!"

"Walk faster, cripple," replied the marauder.

"Faster? I'll give ya faster!"

Merle sprinted forward with a sudden burst of speed and stabbed the rider in the calf. His knife went through the muscle and out the other side, piercing the horse in its side. The poor beast rose up and threw its rider before bolting forward and Merle went with it, sliding along the ground as if he had some sort of wicked energy boost on the world's longest mud slip'n slide. He went about fifty feet before Stellan blocked off the horse and another man grabbed its reigns. The horse's rider came shuffling along looking livid and he had Merle's bat in his hands, preparing to bring it down on its owner's head, but Stellan cut him off.

"We need him alive, you moron, now get back on your horse and stay there." Stellan untied Merle's rope from the saddle and redid it on his own. "Let's go, Dixon."

A feeling of dread settled over Merle with every step towards Walter Four. He couldn't let Andrea see him like this or she might try something stupid to save him. Those inside the fortress could not be allowed to trade anything for him because as soon as Carter got what he needed, Merle would be on a one-way ticket to another world. It didn't matter now that Merle had lost; the important thing was for the others to not give in to Carter's demands. He would not die in the knowledge that he had brought about the untimely deaths of everyone on the other side of the steel-plated walls.

So intent was he on preventing the exchange and so deep was he in his thoughts that he was not aware that the marauders had stopped. He continued walking until his face smacked into a horse's rear end and he got a mouthful of tail hair. Spitting angrily, he heard Carter ordering the group to split in two and wait for the climax, whatever that meant. Daryl and Stellan were chosen to accompany him up to the south side of Walter Four and so Merle trudged miserably behind Stellan's horse, trying his best to hide from view as he was ashamed to be seen completely beaten and of all things, a prisoner. It would be far less shameful to have been killed by walkers—it would be glorious to go out fighting like that—like Dale. But he couldn't. He would die here on this stretch of grass with the rain pelting him and his fellow survivors looking down on him.

He heard Kale on the ramparts yelling as Carter and company approached the wall. He didn't look up, but he could hear Braxton's deep bass voice call out to them.

"What do you want now? My brother already told you that we have nothing to spare for you and you can be damn sure that you aren't getting inside here."

"Actually, once you hear what I have to say, you'll find that you have a change of heart," said Carter. "If your brother is who I think he is, then he'll be the one suffering from a bullet wound unless he's already dead."

"He's alive, you sick fuck," said another voice, that of Thane's.

Still partially hiding behind Stellan's horse, Merle leaned sideways to see Thane's head appear. From what Merle could see, Thane looked incredibly pale, but there was revulsion on his face as he addressed Carter.

Carter motioned to Stellan and Merle was dragged out into the limelight while Carter pointed his Beretta at him. "I believe this belongs to you," he said savagely, relishing the look on Merle's face.

Above Merle could hear three people gasp and then two more men shouted down.

"Merle, what happened?" Rick hollered.

"Are you alright?" asked T-Dog.

"Do I _look_ alright to you?" Merle spat, not looking up. Then he heard the one voice he wanted to hear more than anything but hoped he would not have to.

"Merle?"

_Don't you say it, Andrea. Juss shut up, f'once in your life, please shut_ up.

"Who's the woman?" asked Carter inquisitively. "Wait, don't tell me," he said, looking to Merle who should have come up with a better strategy than avoiding eye contact, for Carter seemed to add two and two together. "She's yours, isn't she, Dixon? That's perfect." He fired his handgun over Merle's head so that Merle could actually feel the wind from the bullet's after path brush against his hair.

"No!" Andrea cried. "Just who the fuck do you think you are? You leave him alone!"

"Shut up," whispered Merle, still refusing to look up. He scrunched up his eyes, hoping that it would help his temptation.

"Andrea, go back down, we'll handle this," said Rick but Merle heard a sound that he identified to be bone hitting flesh as Andrea punched the former officer.

"Don't you tell me to go back down, damn you! Merle, look at me! _Merle_!"

"Shut up, Andrea, juss shut—the—hell—up!" Merle roared.

"Lovely couple," said Carter. He turned his attention back towards Braxton and Thane. "Well, the woman has obviously spoken for you; you want him back. My terms are the same as before; I want in and I want free reign to take whatever and whoever I please. If you don't accept these terms, you don't get the one-handed, worthless, brainless redneck back."

Merle glanced sideways, feeling blood pounding behind his eyes. He had been called many things in his life, most of them unpleasant, but he had been able to brush the insults off. This, however, was the last straw. No one, _no one_ could call him a brainless redneck after all the shit he had gone through to survive the apocalypse. He was just as intelligent as any mother son who had endured all the hardships brought about with the world's end; he just had a shorter temper.

He knew that he was sealing the deal with his actions, but he was prepared for it. His woman would see her man go out just like Dale. Merle marched forward, dragging Stellan and his horse along with him as he brought his knife overhead and thrust it into Carter's rear end, the highest part of the bastard he could reach. Carter howled his displeasure and struck Merle across the face, giving one of his bruises a bruise.

"Don't you give this piece of shit nothin', y'hear me up there? I ain't worth that. Shoot 'im down now-," Merle stopped mid-sentence as he felt Carter's handgun touch his temple.

"You have five seconds to tell me your answer before I blow a hole the size of an acorn through Mister Dixon's head!"

Merle heard Andrea begging Thane and Braxton as Carter began his countdown. "Five…"

"Please, there has to be something that we can do!"

"Andrea, stay out of this," urged Rick.

"Four…"

"Y'all ain't actually gonna deal with this bastard, are you? Iss all bullshit! He ain't gonna hand me over 'f y'let him inside! He's gonna shoot me no matter what y'do and then he's gonna kill every man and child inside this place and rape the women! Don't you do it!"

"Shut up, Merle!" shouted Thane.

"Rick, _please_…"

"Three…"

Merle saw Daryl begin to dismount his horse, slipping his crossbow strap off of his shoulder. Stellan's hand was on the revolver in his belt.

"Two…"

Merle tried to remember his son's face…

"_WAIT_!" Rick screamed. "Just—just give us _ten_ minutes to discuss this! That's all I'm askin' for is ten minutes. Please…"

Carter's lip pulled up in a sideways smile. "Alright, you've got your ten minutes, and to make sure you don't try to double cross me…" He snatched Merle's ropes from Stellan's saddle and cantered back to the tree line, dragging Merle unceremoniously behind. Throwing the rope upright, Carter cast it so that it slung over a sturdy tree branch and he knotted it off tightly as he created a noose. He ordered Daryl to dismount and tie Merle's arms behind his back which the former did begrudgingly and then he and Stellan draped the noose around Merle's thick neck before hoisting him up onto Daryl's horse.

"If things don't go the way I expect, Merle Dixon swings!" shouted Carter back to the group assembled behind the battlements.

And so they waited.

Merle felt the rope rub against his skin with every swallow and sweat collected on his forehead, mixing with the rain and running over the tip of his nose to drip into the horse's hair. On either side of him stood Daryl and Stellan as guards. Daryl drummed his fingers against the side of his leg in anticipation and Merle could see blood running out from under his makeshift eye patch.

"'F you do anythin' to her, I'll see you in hell," Merle whispered to him.

"Are you that certain that you're headed for hell?" asked Stellan.

Merle turned his head as far to the left as he dared. "Naw, I ain't sure. I done my share've messed up shit, but I'm hopin' that the past ten months will bail me out. But if I don't roast in the fires've damnation, I'll watch this piss bucket drown in his own misery and I'll laugh. And when you arrive, I'll do the same thing."

"Oh, so now _I'm_ going to pay the devil a visit?" Stellan demanded, going brick-red in his face.

"After what you done to your kin, you betcher ass y'are."

"I never did anything to him-,"

"Y'stabbed him, don't gimme that! Y'sided with mercenaries and left 'im, or don't you r'member? I'd start prayin' b'fore things go down, Scotsman."

"It's time," Carter announced from behind Merle and to the right. "When they open the door, you know what to do Stellan, but if for some reason they don't, give that horse's ass a slap and send our guest off to the gates of hell. We don't want him to be late for his appointment."

Knowing that Carter could see Merle's hand, Merle flipped him the middle finger.

"Well, what's it going to be?" Carter shouted out to Walter Four where Braxton and Rick were still standing.

"We'll let four of you in to grab what you need if you meet us halfway with Merle," said Rick.

"Four?" Carter laughed. "No, you see, _you_ are not in control here and you don't appreciate the gravity of the situation. Either _all_ of my men go in or you can watch your friend do a mid-air dance."

"For the love of God, we have women and children in here, man!" Braxton growled. "We value human life, why don't you? What the hell is the matter with you?"

"We're willing to give you what you want, but we can't let all of your men in," said Rick.

"How about I leave one of them out here? That way all of them aren't in there." Carter suggested with a hoarse cackle.

"How 'bout you shut that ugly hole in your face?" Merle proposed. He saw Rick's face even from this distance and his enemy-turned-acquaintance looked solemn enough that Merle thought it should be punishable.

"I'm sorry, but we can't," he said heavily.

Carter began to speak the command, the bane of Merle's existence when his body jerked back violently and blood spewed out from his shoulder blade. Merle turned in his saddle almost to the point where he slipped off the stupid thing and hung himself. He saw the metallic shine from a rifle in the treetops in the one area where Carter hadn't positioned his men.

"Damn it, Stellan, your brother never was much shakes at using a rifle," said Carter, breathing heavily. "He was always more of a shotgun sort of bastard." He went for his Berretta when Merle heard the moans of the dead drawing in from the trees to their rear. At the same time Walter Four came alive as what looked like every individual who could wield available armaments rose up from the battlements and fired upon Carter's men.

Carter backed up his horse and charged into the trees to attack the walkers while Stellan remounted and Daryl ran on foot to join the battle with the other marauders who were trapped between a rock and a hard place—walkers and humans with guns.

Merle couldn't move and swore loudly. If his horse panicked then it would bolt and he would hang, still alive as walkers began to gnaw off his feet. He tried to work his arms free, monitoring the battle that waged on out in the clearing. Two men were shooting at the trees where Merle had seen the rifle. Stellan rammed into them and was able to make it look like an accident as a walker attacked his horse.

Something grabbed Merle's leg and he could see a revolting grayish-white face leering at him with an open mouth and two rows of rotted teeth. A bullet struck the walker and came out its nostril. Merle heard the rifle aftermath farther off than the tree from whence the bullet that had struck Carter came. He saw someone standing atop the parapet with a rifle aimed at him and the person had long white-blonde hair.

"Andrea, you git your ass down from there, are you crazy?" he bellowed at her.

"Crazy as you!" she shot back and fired again. Merle felt the rope loosen around his neck as it split under the path of the bullet from Andrea's rifle.

"I'll be damned," he said to himself, mildly impressed, but then reminded himself that Andrea had shot Daryl with a rifle on her first try and the distance had been much greater then.

Another pair of hands grabbed him and he nearly fell off the horse, but someone barked at him. "Stay still, you idiot, while I get these ropes off."

"Well, where the hell've you been up 'til now, huh?" Merle asked Ferris.

"Hiding," Ferris answered. "I was in the tree, now hold on tight and get to the door!"

Merle rode out into the open in a chaotic mix of walkers, marauders, and horses. He found the crowbar Daryl had stored in his saddlebag and took out a good chunk of walker brain with it. "Yeah, bitches, how you like me now?" Heaving strongly on the reigns, he saw Ferris in combat with a horseless marauder. Not five feet from Merle another marauder put his rifle scope to his eye and aimed for the Scotsman. Stellan drew his knife and stabbed the man in the back of his head. Not soon enough, he spun around and faced Carter who shot him mercilessly point-blank in the chest. His body jolted back and he fell from his horse as Carter rode off. A walker stumbled hungrily towards Stellan but Merle cut off its path and delivered a grueling hit to its cheek. He jumped off of his horse and knelt down beside Ferris's older brother who was expelling red waterfalls and gagging on his own blood.

"F—Fer—Ferris…" he choked and then went still.

Merle took his weapons, grabbed the front of his shirt and threw him over the side of his horse before pulling himself back on and riding for the vault door which was wide open, held so by Glenn and T-Dog. He dismounted and let the horse continue on inside with Stellan's body still draped over it. Glenn handed off the reigns to Merle's own horse just as four marauders came charging at them. From above someone took out one of the riders, but the other three kept on coming and Merle only just had time to move aside before they smashed into Glenn and made it through the vault.

"Glenn!" cried T-Dog as the riders passed by. Inside Merle could hear gunfire and shouts, but his attention was focused on the sight at his feet. Glenn's eyes were wide open but unmoving and there was blood dribbling down from his forehead as T-Dog bent over him, shaking him desperately. He never stood a chance; the horse's hooves had crushed him.

Rick appeared at the door with Andrea who clapped a hand to her mouth at the sight of Glenn in the mud. Rick closed his eyes and looked sick to his stomach.

"I'm goin' back out to git Ferris," said Merle. He gave Andrea a meaningful look. "Stay here."

"Now look here, after all the trouble you've caused by sneakin' out, you can't do that," said Rick furiously.

"Eat shit, pal," said Merle.

Andrea began to say something, but Merle was already riding back out into the open with her cry of, "Merle Dixon, you asshole, you can't leave me like this!" ringing in his wake.


	10. Chapter 10: All Because of One Man

Merle had to admit, his horse definitely had balls. The beast galloped into walkers and trampled them underfoot without so much as tossing its head. Thrashing out with his crowbar, Merle searched the battlefield for Ferris, wary of the marauders who seemed to be much too concerned with the unfriendly fire from Walter Four and the walkers to be troubled by him. The pain in his body seemed far away and unimportant as he circled the combat zone in search of the stupid Scotsman who chose a very inconvenient time to go missing. On his third round encircling the fighters he saw a group of new riders approaching from Walter Four: Andrea, Rick, Braxton, and Kale.

"Y'stupid bunch've dumb_asses_!" Merle hollered. "Git back inside, what's wrong with you?"

Andrea rode out to meet him, beheading a walker with an improvised machete and a victorious grin on her face but Merle rode up alongside her and put his hand on her wrist. "Wipe that ridiculous smirk off've your face and git back inside, woman! You've got a kid to look after!'

"_Our son_ will be just fine," said Andrea. "I'm not sitting in there to wait—not knowing if you're going to come back again. Don't ask me to watch someone else put a gun to your head and threaten to shoot you, Merle."

"I ain't askin' you, I'm orderin' you to get your ass outta here!"

Merle and Andrea split up as they hit a swarm of walkers and Merle merged back in towards them as he saw the missing Scotsman dashing towards them. "Ferris, don't you do it, son! You come back here right now!"

Ferris's head perked up at the sound of Merle's voice and he did a one eighty in place. "Where's Stellan?"

"Turn 'round, y'jackass!" Merle warned—one second too late.

A walker overtook Ferris and both of them disappeared in the maze of horse and walker legs. Rick's horse soared over a dueling couple and kicked a walker in the head as he went to assist Braxton with taking down a quartet of walkers that were trying to claw a rider from his mount. Merle clung to his horse's mane as bullets passed overhead and he slid sideways, dangling by his only hand while he advanced on the walker on top of Ferris. The damned thing keeled backwards as Merle dug his knife into its open mouth, dragging it several feet before he was able to shake it free. Turning back around he saw Ferris stand up and shake his head out as if he were confused. Merle straightened himself in his saddle and grasped a fistful of Ferris's jacket. His muscles cried out to him, begging him to drop the Scotsman, but Merle kept his grip, holding Ferris close to the horse as they rode clear of the crossfire and into a safe spot.

"Now, stay _here_, damn it!"

"No, _you_ stay here and get the hell out of my way!" Ferris snarled.

Merle blocked Ferris's path. "Y'go back in there and it'll be suicide."

"Then tell me where Stellan is!" Ferris demanded.

"He's inside Walter Four; Carter shot 'im." The blood drained out of Ferris's face at these words. "He's gone, Ferris."

Ferris put a fresh magazine in his pistol. "No, I'm going back out."

"Oh, y'are?" Merle challenged.

"Yes, I bloody well am! I'm going to shoot that son of a bitch and you don't have the right to deny me that!"

"I don't? Y'done 'nough as it is, anymore and you're gonna git y'self killed,numb nuts, don't y'unnerstand that?"

"I understand _this_!" Ferris pulled his shirt collar down to reveal a circular wound on his chest that looked horribly like teeth marks. No, not _like_ teeth marks, they _were_ teeth marks. The walker had gotten him. Ferris's prematurely lined face was trembling. "Yeah, you understand that too, don't you Dixon? I'm going to die either way, so you'd better let me go my own way or I'll make you because trust me, I have nothing to lose. So what's it going to be?"

Words failed him. Merle tore his gaze away to stare at the spot where Glenn had gone down, the first of what could be many. He could stand here barring Ferris's way or he could get his ass moving and rally his group before someone else fell victim to a war that they weren't meant to mix up in. He had his horse take a few steps backward to allow Ferris passage.

"Hell, Scotsman, this sure seems like a shitty way to repay you for what you done to help out my people."

Ferris raised an eyebrow. "Your people, eh? Is that what they are? Not just some survivors you happen to be staying with or a bunch of misfits?"

"Well, what else'm I s'posed to call 'em?" asked Merle.

"Just remember what you already did call them, mate. If it comes down to it, I'll see you on the other side. If not, put a candle up on the ramparts for me tonight."

And with that Ferris walked back towards the battle.

Merle rode past him, avoiding the temptation to look down and he signaled to Braxton to fall back. "Y'ain't gonna do much more good out here, git back on them walls and shoot down!"

"Dixon!"

Carter was twenty feet away, loading, aiming…

Swearing at the top of his voice, Merle let go of the reigns and plummeted. His back hit the ground hard, sending a shock wave from his tailbone up to his skull. In the time it took for him to blink he saw a flash of white and he just barely pulled out of the way as Carter came down at him with—a machete—_Andrea's machete_. The blade sliced through his right wrist, separating his stump from his knife and taking off a good four inches of flesh and duct tape. Merle let out a cry of pain as his left hand closed around his knife, his only weapon. He kicked out and delivered an unforgiving blow to Carter's manly region. The self-proclaimed leader stumbled back and Merle pushed himself up, coming to his feet with much difficulty as he still felt the sting in his head and rear end.

"Andrea!" he screamed. "Andrea, where the hell are you?"

Carter gasped in a much higher octave voice than his original and fired blindly at Merle, grazing his jawbone. Merle couldn't even hold his wound shut since he had one hand with the knife and a weaponless stump. He took a wrong step and lost his footing as he tumbled over a body and then Carter was on top of him, hands groping for Merle's throat, throttling him. Merle saw stars in the overcast daytime sky. Lightning flashed across his line of vision and a roll of thunder followed.

Suddenly Carter released him, dragged backwards by—Merle couldn't see…

He clapped his eyes shut, rubbed the back of his hand across them, and wrenched them open again to see Daryl pounding Carter's face with both of his fists. "_You keep your fuckin' hands off of my brother you son've a fuckin' bitch!" _He pulled his pistol from his belt and shot Carter three times in the face, hacking up a line of spit with ferocity and finality. All at once the fighting around them stopped as the remaining marauders (and Merle guessed about seven of them) watched Daryl rise. He fired with deadly accuracy, using the last of his rounds to take down four before they even had a chance to acknowledge what had happened. Daryl mounted a passing horse and fled across the clearing, going west. The riders, who must have held Carter in such high regard as to want to avenge him, gave chase, abandoning the walkers and Walter Four.

There was an odd ringing in Merle's ears. He wiped his knife clean on his pants and stuck it between his teeth as he looped his arm around his horse's (the animal had faithfully remained by his side in the battle) reigns. He felt soft hands touch his shoulder and saw Andrea also on horseback help him straddle his leg over. She surrendered her rifle and nodded once to him and he tore after the marauders. He could feel the blood wrath pumping throughout his entire body which was on fire with cuts, bruises, open wounds, old wounds, and just all-out, plain-as-day, no bullshitting _pain_.

His horse's heavy breathing kept rhythm. He could hear the remaining three marauders crashing through the underbrush ahead and placed his rifle between his leg and the horse's side to check to see that it was loaded. He elevated his stump to rest the rifle on it and as his horse made a leap over a fallen log, the first marauder came into view. Merle let off a round and quickly set about to reloading it, though he knew he had given himself away. He heard a gun blast and a horse whinny up ahead, but so did the next marauder whom he was able to take out with another well-aimed bullet. At last, he saw the final rider and he was being attacked by more walkers.

_I swear to God, they're _everywhere.

Merle watched the walkers pull the rider off quite easily and began to feast. Preparing his rifle one more time, Merle took aim and put the marauder out of his misery before his screams could carry. He took a small side road to bypass the walkers and came to a steep slope riddled with weeds and loose rocks. At the bottom Merle saw Daryl trapped beneath his horse; the marauder must have shot the horse which now lay dead atop Daryl's leg so that he couldn't pull himself free. And, shit, _more_ walkers were surrounding Daryl from three sides. There was more than five, less than ten, and Merle had no time to spare for counting as he threw himself from his horse, dug his heels into the slope, and slid down with mud trailing into his pants and boots. At the bottom he fell to his knees for a moment, but was on his feet again in a heartbeat, firing until he heard the heart-clenching sound made by an empty weapon. Knife in hand, he ran around the horse to stand over Daryl.

"C'mon, y'idiot, pull y'self outta there."

"I can't," Daryl moaned. "Son've a bitch, I _can't_." He pulled his own knife from his belt. "Keep 'em off me while I cut myself loose."

Merle glanced over his shoulder. "Are you shittin' me? You gonna cut your leg off? No, you ain't, now git outta there!"

Daryl ignored him, picking out a spot on his leg to start sawing.

"Aw, hell…"

Merle dropped his knife in the mud, seized Daryl's left arm in his hand and tugged. Alone he couldn't have done it, but Daryl managed to wriggle himself out by kicking hard against the dead horse and as he came free Merle toppled over with a walker within feet of him. He rolled sideways, snatched up his knife, and made a jab-cross-hook-uppercut motion with the knife. The next two minutes passed in a blur of color and sound until both Merle and Daryl stood gasping for breath and bent double with a hand on their knee to support themselves. Daryl clunked out first and dropped onto his back in the mud, arms spread eagle as if he were about to make a mud angel.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" asked Merle, dropping down beside them, aching all over.

"You ain't figured it out by now?" asked Daryl in bafflement. "I thought it was obvious. I tried to send you signs, so you must be really thick to have not caught on."

"Shut up and git to the point," said Merle darkly.

"I joined up with Carter to get in close, find out what his plans were. I figured that if I could just get close enough, I could put him down before things got ugly—well, that worked out real well. And you didn't help none by getting' y'self caught like a damn fool. I couldda been in'n out, gone'n back b'fore y'couldda missed me, but no, you had to go all _big brother_ me."

"D'you mean to tell me that we went through all've that for shit?" fumed Merle.

"No, what happened was unavoidable. Carter was dangerous and insane to a certain degree. He threatened my family once; we nearly lost Andrea and the baby and I wasn't gonna risk losin' 'em again. I made up my mind the moment I saw Dale come out into this world to do what I had to in order to protect 'im. Damn it, Merle, that's my nephew and I knew he weren't gonna make it unless somebody did somethin'. So I did."

"Why didn't you juss tell me in the first place y'dumbass? I almost _killed _you!"

"Would you've let me go if I had told you the real reason? Naw, y'wouldn't. I had to make you believe that I was leavin' 'cuz I was sick of you and bein' pissed on, 'cuz if I had said, 'Merle, I'm goin' to kill the bastards who attacked the camp and I'm goin' alone,' y'wouldda done all y'could to stop me. Face it, old man, you're overly protective and at the same time y'don't give a rat's ass."

"Ain't true," Merle argued. "I couldda killed you 'f I wanted to and I nearly did 'cuz you played your part well. I thought you really did hate me 'nough to put a knife in my gut and I was prepared to go out fightin 'gainst you. Y'scared the livin' shit outta me with all that crap you pulled."

Daryl raised his head off of the ground an inch. "Wait, I _scared_ you? You, Merle Dixon, who ain't 'fraid've nothin'?"

"Figure've speech," said Merle dismissively. "But y'had me goin' for a long time. Y'made your big brother think that it was all over, that you'd washed your hands've it all. Next time, juss come right out and tell me and that way we'll save ourselves a hell've a lotta pain. Shit, boy, you lost an eye and that sadistic bloodsucker took off more of my arm. Now where the hell'm I gonna find duct tape, huh? I'm severely pissed off 'bout this."

"Save it," said Daryl wearily, setting his head back down.

Merle made a "pfttt" sound and collapsed. "I tell you what, boy, soon as I'm in fit condition, I'mma kick your ass agin."

%%%

It took close to two hours to climb out of the hole they had landed themselves in and by then the sun was beginning to sink behind the rain clouds. They rode back on Merle's horse and as twilight set in, they arrived at Walter Four which stood tall, throwing its dark and foreboding shadow over the carnage of the day. Horses, men, and walkers littered the hillside and there was blood everywhere as well as flies that braved the rain to buzz excitedly rotting and fresh flesh. Merle let Daryl continue on with the horse as he limped amidst the victims of the massacre in search of survivors. He recognized no one, for which he was grateful, but his heart was heavy as he looked on at the slaughter fatalities…all because of one man who believed himself above the laws of man.

_Damn you, Carter, damn—_

Something snatched at Merle's ankle and he tripped, face-planting on a walker. He flipped over to see a ghoulish face staring unblinkingly at him with its mouth hanging wide open. No, _his_ mouth, not its. It was Ferris. He had an oozing bullet wound in his chest and another in his neck. After he had died, or whatever the hell he did in between the time he stopped being human and reanimated, the disease brought him back. His hand was not yet gray, but the tips were dirty and swollen. Merle searched around for a projectile weapon and found one in a dead marauder's hand. He checked the chamber for a shot and cocked it. Ferris crawled towards him.

_Naw, that ain't Ferris. Y'ain't gonna hurt 'im none by shootin' 'im. He's gone._

Merle placed his bullet between Ferris—no, it was a _walker_—between the walker's eyes and fired.

**I'd like to know what you think as the story comes to a close with only one chapter to go. Was there something that really got you thinking or shocked you, or just something that made you have a "Merle moment"? I'd love to find out, so drop me a line if it's at your convenience! **


	11. Chapter 11: The Crossbow

The walker bodies had been burnt outside on the stretch of grass and the marauders buried in unmarked graves. Ferris, Stellan, Glenn, and two others who had been killed when the three marauders made it inside Walter Four had special graves dug for them facing the sun on the east side of the fortress. Stellan and Glenn did not require much cleaning up, but Merle and Daryl personally did their best to make all traces of the plague disappear from Ferris's face and cover up the bullet hole left by Merle's gun. By the time the bodies were ready to be lain to rest, Merle had re-cauterized his now shorter-than-ever stump, bandages had been wrapped around his broken ribs, his jaw had been stitched up, and all of his other cuts and wounds had been tended to. Meanwhile, Braxton had fashioned Daryl an eye patch which the latter was now wearing as he and Myah tucked a blanket around Stellan to cover his face while Merle wrapped Ferris in his burial shroud. Merle could see that his brother and Myah were standing rather close together so that their shoulders were touching, but neither of them seemed to mind.

Merle supposed that after all the shit Daryl had been through that he at least deserved this, whatever it might lead to. He had instructed Daryl—perhaps _threatened_ was the more appropriate term—to not tell anyone of the conversation the two of them had had at the bottom of the slope. No one need ever know because as far as Merle was concerned, it wasn't any of their damn business. He also believed that this was good for Daryl; as long as little brother was occupied with something else other than his loneliness, he might just stick around this time. As long as Thane and Braxton approved—and Merle suspected that they would—Merle had no reason to fear the blossoming relationship.

Andrea slipped an arm around his waist as the other held Dale. He was asleep at the moment, which allowed Merle to take him in his hand. He probably weighed close to eight pounds.

"Do you think Ferris forgave Stellan?" asked Andrea, placing a wildflower in the small opening near the top of the shroud.

"In the end," said Merle. In the end, family forgave each other for any and everything; Amy had forgiven Andrea, Ferris had forgiven Stellan, and the Dixons…they would never say it aloud, but sometimes looks said things that words couldn't and at the bottom of the slope they shared a look of understanding.

"I can see it in your face; you still blame yourself," said Andrea, looking up at him. "What happened to Ferris and Glenn wasn't your fault. Ferris knew the danger and so did Glenn."

"I pulled m'horse outta they way," said Merle through his teeth. "'F I hadn't, I couldda blocked them riders-,"

"We've been through this before Merle, and you _can't_ blame yourself. Maybe for them it was just time to let go. Surviving in the world today may be everything to people like Carter, but knowing that death will get rid of fear is everything to others, like Ferris who wanted to be with his brother and Glenn who gave everything away when Maggie left. Now, you've got me, and Dale, and Daryl, so you'd better stick around, I mean it."

"Don't worry 'bout that, baby."

"Hey, Merle!"

Rick approach Merle from the vault with a rucksack hanging off of his shoulder, which he began to rummage through as he came to a halt beside the fallen. "I went on a scoutin' party into town and I got some good news; I found some duct tape."

Merle's heart leapt. He had had all four fingers as well as his thumb crossed that someone would recover duct tape _somewhere_ and could hardly believe his luck, but after seeing the look on Rick's face, he wasn't so sure that he wanted to know the tape's color.

"See, I also got some bad news," Rick continued. "Braxton needs to use the tape as well on his rifle and the thing is, it's harder to see gray in the woods than it is to see, say, tie-dye-colored duct tape, and, um-,"

"Hold it," said Merle sharply. "See here, _Officer Friendly_, I been through hell with juss one hand and now what was left of m'wrist is gone too. I had _neon_ pink duct tape and zebra-print duct tape. Juss when I think I'm finally gonna git m'hands on plain gray, you tell me that Braxton wants to use it and that ol' Merle's stuck with tie-dye. Let's git somethin' straight; when I don't git somethin' that I been waitin' for, I git a lil' pissed and when I ain't happy, no one's happy, so you can tell Braxton to go and shove his rifle all up in his ass. You ain't gonna talk no more 'bout Merle Dixon usin' no _damn—tie—dye—duct—tape!_ You gonna empty that backpack and gimme what's mine 'cuz I think that I've damn well earned it!"

He handed Dale back to Andrea as Rick pulled out two rolls of tape: one yellow, orange, purple, and green, and one blessed, beautiful _gray_. Merle snatched the gray roll out of Rick's hands, daring him with his eyes to try and take it back. He rounded on Andrea who was desperately trying to keep a straight a face.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," said Andrea quickly.

"Don't gimme that look; 'f you'd been walkin' 'round with some stupid colored tape wrapped over a knife and your arm, you'd be desperate for gray."

"So, are you happy now?"

"I was happy b'fore," said Merle, pressing his lips to her forehead, "but I'm ecstatic now."

"We're ready to carry the bodies out," said Thane as he limped towards Merle, leaning heavily on a cane for support.

"Y'juss killed the mood, jackass," said Merle quietly as Daryl came over to help him lift Ferris. The two bore the Scotsman outside to his resting place and gently set his body down in his grave where two volunteer diggers began to toss dirt on top of him. Walking back towards the vault door in silence, they were each lost in their own thoughts until Daryl spoke up.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Gonna be," said Merle tonelessly.

"Things alright 'tween you and Andrea?"

"Great."

"Then what's your problem?"

"Didn't say I had one."

"It's in your face."

"And my fist is gonna be in _your_ face 'f you don't shut up."

"Damn it, Merle, I's just askin', don't get sore!"

"Argh, leave me 'lone go and talk to your woman."

Daryl stopped mid-stride with his foot hovering in place in the process of taking another step. "Is it that obvious?" he asked concernedly.

"Plain as daylight, lil' brother," said Merle, walking on.

"And you're okay with it?"

"I don't think that what I think matters here. You go on, I'll git someone else t'help me."

Daryl gave him half a smile and set off at a brisk pace to find Myah, beating Merle to the door. Inside Merle could see him crossing the courtyard and making his way towards Thane's red-haired sister.

_ Go get 'em, kid._

%%%

Personally, Merle thought Daryl and Myah were overdoing things a bit when they named their triplets Jared Ferris, Alana Amy, and Emerson Glenn Dixon, but when Myah found out that she was having a set of three (after Jared had come out and the medic informed her that there were still two more waiting) she and Daryl had come up with the names in a thrice. Now the proud father of three, Daryl spent the majority of his time being productive and quite busy while still making time for his year-old nephew who had learned to walk in the last month.

Merle bragged that Dale had his father's strength when the other inhabitants of Walter Four marveled at the boy's accomplishment despite being slightly premature. Dale was also speaking in fragments now and before Merle could stop her, Andrea had spread the word that their son had also inherited his father's big mouth which Merle had a hard time convincing people wasn't an insult.

As Merle sat on the ramparts with his legs dangling over the side to watch the movement in the courtyard below, Daryl came to give him a canteen of water. Merle took a swig from it as Daryl said, "Thane's sendin' a group out to check on that water supply a few miles west of here. I'm goin'."

"You got three kids now, boy, you gotta think 'bout things b'fore y'juss go out'n do 'em," Merle pointed out.

"Aw, shut up, Merle, you left your kid on horseback the day after he was born."

"I's protectin' 'im," Merle protested.

"That's what I'm doin' in the best way I know how," Daryl explained. "That's what we Dixons are made for, right? Ain't that one've the first things you drilled into my brain? Family first?"

"Yeah, but not at the expense of family," said Merle. When Daryl looked nonplussed, he changed the subject. "There's plenty've others to go out and check a frickin' water supply. You can stay here and change diapers. Now git lost."

Daryl rolled his eyes and set off down the steps. Merle watched him go, satisfied that he had had an impact on Daryl and that the man had enough sense to take his advice for once…then he saw a crossbow lying next to one of the fire pits

He leapt to his feet and tore down the steps after his little brother. "Daryl Dixon, y'come back here, I'mma kick your ass! You left your crossbow out _agin_, y'son've a bitch!"

**Short shout out to **_**triplexXx5 **_**if you caught it and thanks for the idea. **

**Well, here ends the second installment of Merle's Walking Dead story…does that have a double meaning? Perhaps. I hope you all have enjoyed part two and maybe even came to like Merle Dixon if you were a previous hater. If you already thought highly of him, props to you. As always, I encourage any and all feedback and would ask that you recommend this story as well as "What to Live For" to anyone who might have an interest in it. Come back and repay the characters a visit sometime if you'd like and who knows…Merle may be back soon…**


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